


The Ghosts in the Castle Affair

by CynthiaK2014



Series: Man from Uncle [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3965134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynthiaK2014/pseuds/CynthiaK2014
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on assignment, things begin to change for the long time partners.  Illya solves a mystery and Napoleon discovers Illya's past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghosts in the Castle, part one

The Ghosts in the Castle Affair  
Part one  
******************* 

Illya woke to the memory of pain. He had the headache from hell but that was rather reassuring actually since the last faint remnants of agony had led him to believe that he wouldn’t be waking up at all. The headache was a distinct improvement. Flaring his nostrils slightly, he tried to pick up the clues that would tell him where he was.

Alcohol . . . Sterile air . . . Blood . . . Ah, back in the hospital it seemed.

The sheets were rough to the touch so it wasn’t the clinic that UNCLE kept in its headquarters. Where had he been when the . . . accident occurred? For the first time, he realized that he had no memory of what had happened. A sharp jagged shard of pure pain seemed to be separating him from the events of the last few . . . days?

“Illya.” He flinched and the voice dropped to the softest of whispers. “Sorry, I forgot the doctor said some of your senses would be a little hypersensitive.”

“Napoleon.” That’s who the voice was, he thought with a gleam of satisfaction.

“I’m here, Illya. As soon as the drug is out of your system and the doctor is sure that your concussion is better, then we can go home.”

A faint memory came back to him. “Switzerland. We’re in Lucerne.”

He could hear the smile in his partner’s voice. “Good, you’re getting your memory back. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Illya thought back over the shards of broken glass that were his memories. “A mountain resort . . . a fire that warmed me . . . cold vodka . . . someone standing over me.” He shivered, suddenly cold. “Someone dark and frozen.”

He felt Napoleon’s hand over his, warming him with a barely there touch. “We were at the resort when someone drugged our drinks. Probably THRUSH but we don’t know for sure. The drug must have reacted in my system differently than in yours because I don’t remember a thing until I woke up a few hours later and broke us out of some kind of warehouse here in beautiful Zug.”

“Zug?” Illya moved his head then cringed as pain exploded behind his eyes.

“Sh-h-h-h, it’s all right, Illya. It’s just the tail end of the concussion.” Soothing warm fingers traced gentle circles at his temple and he felt some of the pain go away.

“Tired, Nap . . .” He could hear the slur in his voice before he fell back to sleep.

********************** 

When he awoke this time, he moved his head gently and found it not quite as painful as before. Napoleon’s aftershave teased his nostrils so he knew he wasn’t alone. “Napoleon?”

“Right here, Illya. The doctor should be by shortly and if he passes you, I’ll be able to get you out of here.” The voice was so soft that it couldn’t possibly hurt him.

“Still in Zug?”

“Still in Zug, my friend. As soon as you can move, we’ll go back to Lucerne but not back to the ski resort. I’ve made reservations at a little Bed and Breakfast I know. You’ll be your old self in no time.”

“I’m not myself?” Illya felt as if his brains were full of mush.

The warm chuckle made him feel safe and he felt his hand taken up in both of Napoleon’s who heated it with a little gentle friction. “Oh, you’re still Illya but not quite up to your normal repartee.”

“Okay.” Illya felt a drum beat start in his head and he wished it would just go away.

“Headache?” Napoleon’s fingers rubbed a very small circle over his temple where the pulse fluttered beneath his skin.

“Hm-m-m.” Illya relaxed again. He should be doing something if he could just remember what that something was. 

“Nope, there’s absolutely nothing you have to do but finish your nap and wait for the doctor to come by.”

“Reading minds, now?” Illya felt sleep creeping up again.

The chuckle made him smile and he felt Napoleon’s hand brush the hair off his forehead. “Your face at the moment is rather . . . expressive. Sorry to disappoint you, Illya.”

Yawning, Illya began the long slide towards sleep. “You never disappoint me, Pasha.”

**************** 

This time the fingers were cold and smelled of alcohol as they turned his head to the right then to the left. Frowning, he tried to open his eyes but it appeared that someone had glued them shut while he was sleeping.

“This is Doctor Brunel, Illya. He’s the nice man who’s going to release you soon.” Napoleon’s voice came from his other side and Illya stopped trying to open his eyes.

If Napoleon were still here than everything was all right, he thought with a muzzy thought then said it out loud so Napoleon would know too. His partner chuckled and that warm hand was back on his so he decided to hold on to it. That way, Napoleon couldn’t go away and chase the nurses. He thought that was funny so he told his partner that too.

“Well, Herr Kuryakin, your concussion is slight and the drug continues to cloud your system but with much fluid intake I think you will flush it completely from your system in forty-eight hours or so. So, I shall release you into your partner’s hands and tell him to take good care of you.” The accented English was a little hard to follow but Illya tried. “We’re a little short staffed, Herr Solo, so if you could see to helping your friend to dress, I will go out and finish the paperwork. Jah?”

“Thank you, Dr. Brunel. I’d be happy to help out.” Napoleon took his hand away and Illya heard them shake hands over his body.

His body. He’d forgotten there was more than just his head and his hands but now when he tried to move, he found a number of places that hurt. Cataloging the various aches and pains he dismissed them as minor. He was probably black and blue but then he was used to that. For some reason, he always seemed to get hit more often than Napoleon. 

Brooding on that thought, he was surprised by a warm, wet washcloth that bathed his eyes gently. “Napoleon? What are you doing?”

“I saw how you tried to open your eyes earlier and thought this might help unglue them.” 

Suddenly, Illya felt better. “You take good care of me, Pasha. I think it may be working. They don’t feel so stiff any more.”

“Okay, try them now.” Napoleon moved the cloth away and Illya scrunched up his face and tried really hard to open his eyes.

With a pop, they flew open and he saw Napoleon through blurry eyes. “Um, you look tired . . . and worried. Why?”

The handsome face relaxed a little and that smile was back, the one that Illya secretly liked to see. It was the smile that belonged just to him alone. “Well, I have to admit that you had me a little worried when you wouldn’t wake up.”

“But I’m awake now and you’re supposed to get me dressed so we can leave this cold place.” Illya shivered a little. “I don’t think they heat this room at all.”

That little worry line was back between the chocolate brown eyes. “I expect you just haven’t been moving much, Illya. It will be better when you get up and walk around.”

“If you say so, Pasha.” Illya was only too happy to agree in the hopes of making that little line disappear. “This . . . this thing I’m wearing is icky.”

Napoleon’s chuckle was rich and full. “Illya, I sincerely hope you don’t remember this conversation when that damn drug wears off. Or I’m going to be in big trouble.”

Illya tried to sit up but when the room did a 360 degree turn on him, he closed his eyes tight and held on to Napoleon’s hand. “Make it stop, Pasha.”

Warm arms slid around him, propping him upright against his partner’s solid shoulder. He was wearing the brown silk suit that made his eyes look even browner. It smelled like Napoleon too and he took a deep breath in while he waited for his stomach to settle down.

“Better?” Those warm hands were rubbing circles into the skin on his back where the gown gaped open.

“Un-uh. Don’t let’s do that again.” Illya said plaintively.

“I promise, Illya. Now do you think you can sit up by yourself while I get your clothes?”

“Of course.” Illya was rather indignant at the suggestion that he didn’t know how to sit up. But he did miss the strong arms when they drew slowly away. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and watched his partner open a small suitcase. Pulling out a blue sweater, Napoleon laid it on the bed along with a pair of navy blue dress pants and the rest of his clothes.

“Oh good, you brought my favorite sweater.” Illya smiled happily at Napoleon and pulled off the loose hospital gown to puddle at his waist.

“You never told me that, Illya. Why is it your favorite?” He helped Illya move his arms into the sleeves, then steadied him again when he got caught in the turtleneck.

His head finally popped through and he grinned at his partner. “Because you gave it to me.”

Napoleon stopped helping and looked stunned. “That was three years ago.”

“I know. Um, Napoleon, could I finish dressing? It’s cold.”

His partner shook his head as if to clear it. “Sure. Swing your legs over the side of the bed and I’ll get your socks on.” He pushed the covers away and slid his hands over Illya’s knees to draw them to him.

Illya clutched at the broad shoulders before him and hung on while the room swirled again. “No, Pasha.”

“Sorry. I’ll go slower. Damn, your feet are cold as ice.” Napoleon sounded angry and that frightened him a little.

“I’m sorry, Napoleon.” He whispered, hoping that his partner wouldn’t be mad.

Startled brown eyes met his downcast gaze from where he knelt by Illya’s dangling feet. “It’s not your fault, Illya. You’re right, this place is too cold. These socks should help.”

Now that he knew that his partner wasn’t mad at him, Illya could smile again. “Yes, Pasha. They feel a little warmer all ready.”

“Okay, now let me slide these boxers up so we can get your pants on. Then we can sign some forms and get out of here. Can you lift your hips a bit?”

“Nope. The room moves funny when I do that.”

“O-o-okay.” Napoleon shook his head and pulled the pants as far up the legs as he could. “Now, I need you to slide off the bed so I can finish getting you dressed.”

Illya promptly slid off the bed into Napoleon’s arms. With his nose buried in his partner’s chest, he took another deep breath. “Did I ever tell you that you smell good?”

The muscles beneath his cheek rippled and a rich chuckle sounded by his ear. “I really need to find out what this drug is because the side effects are extremely interesting. Ah, Illya, I need you to back up just a bit so I can get your pants zipped up.”

“Okay. Did you know that if a man’s penis gets really, really cold you can revive it by dunking it in 100 proof vodka?” Illya told him trustfully.

The snort of laughter almost unbalanced him but that was all right because he’d tickled Napoleon’s funny bone and he didn’t get to do that very often. It felt odd to have someone else touch him down there but because it was Napoleon it was okay. The strong hands zipped him up and buttoned the two buttons at the waistband then moved up to his shoulders to steady him.

“No, Illya, I didn’t know that. Thank you for telling me. Who knows when I may need to know how to revive myself.” The eyes crinkled a little at the corners and made Illya feel even better.

“Yes, it might come in handy when you seduce a snow bunny.” Illya nodded but that made his head hurt so he stopped and leaned it against a handy shoulder. “It hurts, Pasha. Make it go away.”

“Five minutes and I’ll have you in the car, lying down all wrapped up in blankets and you can sleep again. Okay?”

“Yes, thank you. Do you think the floor will move up and down like the bed did?” He whispered to his partner, afraid the tiles might hear him.

“I think the wheelchair the nice nurse just brought in will solve that problem, my friend.” And before he could get too dizzy, Napoleon had him seated in the cold metal chair on wheels.

The shivers were worse now and he tried to hide them from his partner. But the warm blanket that settled around his shoulders told him that he hadn’t hidden them quick enough. It didn’t matter though because Napoleon patted his shoulder and led the way from the cold little room. When the nurse turned him around, he closed his eyes and held on to the plastic arms with all his strength.

The nausea came and went so he tried to sit very still to make it stay away. Illya could hear Napoleon’s voice being charming to one and all. Even with his eyes shut, he could picture the slow smile and the practiced gestures that seduced all the women and half the men they met. That thought made him sad because Napoleon would never, ever want to seduce his partner no matter how much he might want him to.

But he remembered in the nick of time that he shouldn’t tell Napoleon that because it was a secret from everybody.

“Here we go, Illya. You’re all signed out and ready to go.” The voice sounded very concerned for some reason and a warm hand touched his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s still cold.” Illya didn’t have to lie. His very bones felt like ice.

“I’ll turn the heater up high when we get in the car.” The fingers seemed to linger but then the chair was moving and Illya had all he could do to hang on.

Opening his eyes just a bit, he concentrated his gaze on his right knee. So long as he didn’t blink or move his head, his stomach seemed willing to stay in place. Napoleon was talking but Illya decided that he was probably flirting with the nurse so he just listened to the cadences of his partner’s voice. He was the only person that Illya knew who could make a sentence sound like laughter.

Or sunshine.

Illya thought wistfully that the only reason he hadn’t frozen solid over the years working for UNCLE was his partner. He knew that he was known as the Ice Prince among the other agents and that Napoleon was often pitied for having to work with him. That was his other secret of course. Illya knew he was really an emotional ice cube who only warmed at all when Napoleon was near by.

Thawing was painful because when the ice came back, it seemed to hurt twice as much. He was thinking so hard that he barely noticed when Napoleon opened the car door and half lifted him into the passenger seat. The blanket was tucked around him so no stray drafts might get through. The back was even gently ratcheted back so he could lay down, Napoleon’s hand holding his head so he didn’t get bumped.

The caring gesture brought tears to Illya’s eyes and he squeezed them tight so Napoleon wouldn’t see. It must have worked because the car door was gently closed and his voice was muffled while he said goodbye to the nurse. Illya sniffed and tried not to mind that his partner was probably making a date with her. From the single glimpse he’d had of her, she was a pretty blond with wide blue eyes. 

Just Napoleon’s type. 

And Illya tucked his head a little way under the blanket and let the tears slip out while he fell asleep.


	2. Ghosts in the Castle, part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little B&B isn't quite so little and Illya speaks of his past.

The cessation of movement woke him up disoriented and unsure. “Napoleon?”

“We’re here, Illya. Back in Lucerne at that little B&B I told you about. How does your head feel?” The caring note was back, the one that made him feel safe.

“Better . . . I think.” Illya moved his head a bit and then turned it all the way to the window. “Just a little dizzy, not bad.”

“Good. The doctor said that sleep was good for you. And as soon as we get signed in, you’re going straight to bed.”

“Nope. As soon as we get inside, I find a bathroom.” Illya wondered when the last time was that he’d used a toilet. His bladder felt as if he’d swallowed a liquid gallon.

The rich chuckle was back and leather clad fingers undid his seat belt for him. The car doors opened and Napoleon moved around to his side to help him out of the car. A young man was removing their luggage from the trunk and someone else was holding open the door of what appeared to be a fairy tale castle.

He was so bemused by the quaint architecture and tall stone turrets, he barely even noticed the walk inside. Napoleon sat him down in a wing back chair near the oak desk. “It’s a castle. Why are we in a castle?”

“Sixteenth century and rumored to be haunted, I’ve never seen a ghost but maybe you will.” Napoleon smiled down at him then went to sign them in.

Clutching the blanket around him, Illya looked around the high ceilings hung with old battle flags that seemed to move when he focused on them. He couldn’t feel any air currents but maybe a window was open above. Dropping his eyes to the gray flagstones of the floor, he admired the rich colors of the Persian rug at his feet. The busy design reminded him of a garden run riot and he traced what seemed to be an ivy vine from one end of the rug to the other.

“Okay, my friend, we’re checked in and we can go upstairs.” Napoleon’s hand urged him up.

“Does it have a pretty rug like this one? You’re standing on my vine.” Illya was still trying to trace the pattern but his eyes kept blurring.

“It has a tapestry on the wall that you’ll like. If we go upstairs then I won’t have to stand on your vine.” The voice was beguiling and Illya tried to get to his feet but all his muscles were so relaxed that he couldn’t make his legs work.

“Upsy-daisy, Illya. The sooner we go up, the sooner you can find that bathroom you needed.” Strong hands raised him and an iron arm went around his waist. “They’ve got all the amenities, including an elevator. And our bags are already upstairs. Here we go.”

Illya tried to straighten up and take his weight off his partner but Napoleon’s shoulder was just too convenient to rest his head upon. “I like your shoulder, Pasha.”

“That’s good, Illya. You know it’s always there for you.” Napoleon chuckled, held him up while the elevator moved up then led him out of the small elevator.

“No, you’ve usually got a woman using it.” Illya sighed, his eye caught by an old mirror at the end of the hall. The silvery glass showed the two of them in a seeming embrace and for a moment, it looked as if they wore richly colored velvet tunics with swords hanging from their belts. He blinked and the vision went away, leaving them dressed in their familiar clothing.

Napoleon fumbled with the key in the old fashioned lock, then it clicked open and the door swung wide to show the circular room with a hanging tapestry over the large four-poster bed. “I knew you’d like the tower room, Illya. For the next week, this is home sweet home.”

“It’s beautiful, Pasha.” Illya whispered with a tight voice.

“Yes, indeed it is. Now, here’s the bathroom but I’m going to lend a helping hand for now. I don’t want you to fall.”

“You take good care of me, Napoleon.” Illya blinked rapidly.

“No better than you take care of me. In fact, I didn’t seem to do too good a job recently so I’ll have to do better.” Napoleon opened a green door and helped him into a bathroom right out of the nineteenth century. The bathtub was enormous with clawed paws supporting it above a gleaming white and black tiled floor. The fixtures were shiny silver and there appeared to be six or seven different handles and levers.

Napoleon matter of factly undid Illya’s pants for him, got him balanced against the marble sink and then stepped out of the room, leaving the door open just a bit. Illya immediately lowered his boxers and sighed blissfully while he rid himself of all the liquid he’d drunk in the last forty-eight hours. Shaking off the last few drips, he put the lid down and sat to try and pull up his pants again.

“Illya, is everything all right?” Napoleon sounded anxious.

“Napoleon, do you think it would be all right if I took a bath? I feel . . . all hospital-ly.” He looked longingly at the tub.

“Only if I get to help.” Napoleon stuck his head inside then came on in. Kneeling by Illya’s side, he looked up at him. “I don’t want you to hit your head or fall asleep and drown.”

“Okay. It will be nice and hot, right?” Illya felt the shivers start again.

“Yep, they’ve got lots of hot water. How about bubbles?”

“Bubbles would be nice. Really hot would be really, really better though.”

“Really hot it is,” Napoleon twirled a couple of the handles and water began gushing out into the white porcelain tub. One of the carafes on the sink surround had a green liquid in it and that’s the one he reached for. Illya watched in fascination while he opened the jar and poured out a slow stream of pale green that immediately turned into a fragrant bouquet of spruce. “Oops, no bubbles just a little oil. You’ll have to be careful that you don’t slip.”

Illya was pulling off his sweater, kicking off his shoes and letting his pants pool on the floor. The steamy air made it easier to breathe and even without clothes on, he felt a little warmer. The water crept up the sides of the tub and he wiggled out of his boxers before reaching down to remove his socks. Unfortunately that made the room spin and he tucked his head between his knees to try and stop the nausea.

“Let me help, please. You’re still not a hundred percent.” Napoleon’s fingers were warm and Illya watched his partner’s tanned hands against his own pale skin with fascination.

“How many percent am I?” Illya asked curiously.

His chuckle was back and he stood, lifting Illya with him and walking him across to the tub. “Maybe sixty at the moment, my friend. Now, in you go. It’s not too hot, is it?”

Illya sank bonelessly into the hot water. “There is no such thing as too hot, Pasha. This feels very decadent. Perhaps in another life I was a lord of the manor and lived in a castle like this one. Although I don’t feel like an Ice Prince at the moment, more like a melted one.”

“Oh dear, it was too much to hope that you hadn’t heard that one. They don’t really mean any harm by it, Illya. Americans tend to be a little informal in their dealings with acquaintances and your . . . formality is just different.” Napoleon’s hand smoothed his bangs back with a gentle hand.

“No, it’s because they think I’m emotionally crippled and unable to feel strong emotion.” Illya ducked his head beneath the pale green water and came back up to lean it against the rim of the tub. Blissfully, he soaked up the heat. “But I can feel, it just usually hurts too much to open my heart. The only times I did . . . it went badly. It’s easier to stay closed up.” 

Napoleon knelt on the floor beside the tub, the worry line back between his eyes. “I’m sorry, Illya. But I wish you didn’t feel you had to hide from me.”

“Just a few things, Napoleon. So you won’t hate me.” Illya tried to make believe that the drops on his eyelashes were from ducking his head.

“I could never hate you, Illya. You’re my best friend.” Napoleon ran a gentle hand over his wet hair.

“Really?” Illya felt that cold spot inside melt a little. “I’ve never had a best friend before. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, my friend. I think that’s enough water for the moment. Are you steady enough for me to go and call room service?” He turned the taps off, handed Illya the soap and looked around to see if there was anything else he might need.

“I’m fine. Do you think they’d have hot tea . . . with a lemon? And maybe some onion soup with lots of crackers?” Illya watched his hands in fascination at all the bubbles from the soap.

“They probably do, Illya.” He smiled fondly at him and pushed himself up from the side of the tub. “Stay warm and I’ll be right back. I’m going to leave the door open so if you start feeling dizzy or sleepy, call out and I’ll come. Okay?”

Illya nodded, not trusting his voice at that moment. He tried to think back to the last time that someone had treated him so tenderly but his brain hurt and it was easier to just keep on lathering the nice green soap. Ducking under the water again, he came back up and transferred the soap on his hands to his hair. That felt really good and he massaged it in until his hands grew tired. Which was pretty quickly, he frowned to himself. 

He turned around in the tub and laid his head back into the water, rinsing all the soap from his hair. It felt so good to be clean again. If there was one thing he hated, it was being dirty. He flashed back on his childhood in the gulag where water was precious and not to be wasted on washing. He’d never have even dreamed of this kind of luxury. It was beyond his eight year old self.

That made him sad and he rubbed the tears from his eyes. He should be able to let the past go but for some reason, he was feeling those same emotions again. Maybe it was the drug but then why didn’t Napoleon feel this way? Illya sighed and kept on soaping his body. There was kind of a draft from the other room and as the water cooled, a fine trembling started at his shoulders and trickled down to his toes.

The big white towel was hanging just out of his reach so he stood up, hanging onto the side of the tub. Carefully putting one leg over the side, he winced at the touch of the cold tile but kept on moving his body out of the slippery water. Once his other leg was out, he straightened and slowly moved the two steps to the towel. The railing was heated so the towel was wonderfully warm. 

Smiling delightedly, he wrapped it around himself and basked in the warmth. Using a corner to catch the drips from his hair, he decided to dry off quickly before figuring out a way to dry the tangled mess. He moved back to the toilet seat because his spate of energy seemed to have run out. It was all he could do to move the towel back and forth in a gentle friction up and down his legs. 

If only he weren’t so tired . . . and sad . . . and cold.

“Illya! What are you doing out of the tub?” Napoleon’s voice startled him and he reacted the way he would have when he was a boy, hunching up to avoid the blow that usually went along with that tone of voice.

“I’m sorry.” Illya whispered.

“No, no, Illya, I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Napoleon was on one knee again, his warm hand lifting Illya’s chin so he could see his eyes. “I didn’t want you to fall. But you did just fine all by yourself. Are you getting tired?”

Illya nodded silently while trying to control the shivers that kept returning. But with only a towel, it was useless to even try to hide them. Napoleon left the room and Illya was afraid that he was so disgusted that he wouldn’t come back. He sniffed hard and rubbed his nose with the corner of the towel. He was a grown man and he’d been taking care of himself for years.

But then Napoleon came back with something blue in his hands. “This will help with the cold, Illya. First, let’s get these socks on your feet.” Kneeling, he briskly toweled the slender feet before pulling on white cotton socks. Then he shook out a pair of pants made of soft polar fleece that felt like a caress going up his legs. Illya helped him slide them on, smiling at the wonderful warmth they provided. The other piece was a long-sleeved sweatshirt made of the same material.

Then, Napoleon took the towel and toweled his hair gently, sopping up most of the water so it didn’t drip on the warm shirt. “Okay, I’m going to blow it dry with the handy-dandy hair drier they’ve so thoughtfully provided and then you’re going to bed for a nap until dinner comes.”

“Okay, Pasha.” Illya nodded drowsily, enjoying the feel of Napoleon’s fingers combing through his hair.

“You have the softest hair, Illya, as fine as a baby’s.” His partner plugged something in and the blast of heated air startled him at first but the wonderful heat felt so good that he felt like purring. “My friend, you’re a hedonist at heart.”

“Sh-h-h, that’s one of my secrets, Napoleon.” He laid a finger on his lips and tried to wink at him.

The chuckle was back. “Your secrets are safe with me, Illya. You are safe with me.”

“I know, Pasha. Always safe with you.” Illya smiled up at him and wished he could tell him all the secrets.

“That’s dry enough for now. Let’s get you into that nice warm bed with the electric blanket set to ‘high’. All right?” He set the hair dryer aside.

“Yes, please.” Illya felt as limp as a strand of over-cooked spaghetti but Napoleon simply lifted him up and walked him through the door to the big bed with the covers folded down and the flannel sheets beckoning him closer.

Napoleon tucked him in and leaned in to brush the hair from his face. “Sweet dreams, Illya. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Now, go to sleep.” Those strong fingers rubbed gentle circles on his forehead and he felt himself let go and fall deep asleep.

****************** 

The clink of silverware woke him up. He was nice and warm and his body felt rather disconnected to his mind. If he didn’t move, he thought that state of affairs might just continue. There was a waltz playing somewhere and the delicate strings soared through the air like swallows at twilight. He smiled as he listened, remembering a time when he was very small and safe with people who loved him.

“That’s a very wistful smile, my friend.” Napoleon’s voice was soft and gentle.

“When I was two, I remember sitting on the hearth near the fire and watching Mama dancing with Papa while Uncle Vlad played the violin. Grandmama sat by the fire too, knitting something soft and warm. It’s the best memory I have of them. The music reminded me.” Illya opened his eyes and looked up at his partner.

“What music, Illya?” The puzzled look made Illya frown.

“The waltz . . .” He suddenly couldn’t hear it. “Oh, it stopped. It was pretty.”

“The doctor said that your senses might be ultra-acute for a while. Someone was probably playing a radio. I’m glad it brought back a happy memory for you.” Napoleon smiled at him. “You don’t talk much about your past.”

“It hurts too much.” Illya said simply. “They’ve been dead a long time.”

“I’m sorry.” Napoleon gently sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you at all hungry? Could I tempt you with some soup with lots of white crackers?”

Illya thought about it for a moment. It would probably make Napoleon happy if he ate and his stomach didn’t seem to think too badly of the idea so he nodded. He’d been right. Napoleon lit up like a Christmas tree and moved off the bed towards the table where several dishes sat under shiny silver domes.

“Is there tea, Pasha?” He struggled to sit up but was caught in the duvet and a fold of his fleece top.

“Of course, Illya, and there’s lemon too. Hold on and I’ll prop you up in bed. I don’t want you to catch a chill.” He saw Illya’s dilemma and abandoned the dishes to come back over and help him slide up. Stuffing all the pillows behind him, he made sure he wasn’t dizzy before giving him another smile and going back to the table.

Illya just watched his movements, enjoying the economy of motion that his partner always used to accomplish a task. He never seemed to plan ahead but always knew just what to do within a split second of having to do it. He wondered if he’d been born that way or if he learned it from his father and mother. It seemed a good time to ask so he did.

Napoleon smiled over his shoulder, the warm smile that crinkled his eyes and made him look happy all over. “Nana Rebecca, my father’s mother, taught me manners and deportment when I went to visit her every summer.” He brought a small tray on legs over to the bed, covered in a snowy white napkin with several small bowls and silverware on it. “Okay, here’s your soup and your tea. There’s crackers and this one,” he tapped a small silver dome with a little frost on it, “is dessert. But it’s a surprise so no peeking.”

Illya wondered what it could be but since it looked cold, he decided to eat the hot food first. “Hm-m-m, the soup is good.” Spooning a small bit into his mouth, he let it slide over his tongue. “They used rye bread. That’s the best way to make it, Mama said. And gouda cheese melted on top.” And he happily swallowed some more while Napoleon sat on the edge of the bed and watched him.

The music was back and he listened to the lilting refrain while he ate his soup. Napoleon talked gently of little nothings like the history of the inn, what Mr. Waverly had said when he called the attack in, the walks that they could take when Illya felt like it and some of the menus that the cook was known for. Illya paid more attention to the sound of the words than what they meant. His partner’s voice as good as a soothing lullaby.

“Good job, Illya. Are you ready for desert?” The little gleam in his eye told Illya that he’d planned it especially for him so he prepared to eat whatever it was as if it was the best dessert in the world. The little dome was lifted from a bowl of frosted raspberry sorbet with a chocolate wafer springing from the top like a flag.

Illya smiled happily at his friend. “You remembered.”

Napoleon smiled back and stole a bite with the soup spoon. “Well, I better remember my best friend’s favorite dish. I’m beginning to enjoy it myself.”

“Good, then you can help me eat it. I’m pretty full and I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” Illya swallowed the melting spoonful of raspberry flavored ice.

“You look about six years old, my friend. But if you need help, I’m your man.” Napoleon took another bite.

Illya bit his wayward tongue so it wouldn’t ask him to really be ‘his man’. The drug must have suppressed any and all of his inhibitions. But that was a secret he really couldn’t let out, not and keep his friend at his side. Napoleon cocked his head to one side and reached over to smooth out the line between Illya’s eyes.

“What’s wrong, Illya? A bad memory?”

Those stupid tears were back and he had to blink very hard to keep them inside. “No . . . and yes.”

“Anything I can help with?” The concern in those brown eyes loosened his tongue to the point that he had to physically hold his hands over his mouth to keep from blurting out the words that could never be said.

I love you. Could you ever love me too?

He shook his head and once the urge was gone, he laid the spoon back on the tray and his head onto the pillow. The battle to keep silent seemed to have drained all his energy away. “Sleepy, Pasha. Take another nap?”

Napoleon let out a sigh and nodded. “Sure, Illya. Rest and heal, those are your only tasks for the next week.”

He removed the tray to the table then came back and took out the extra pillows from behind Illya’s back. Pulling up the covers, he brushed back the hair again from Illya’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, my friend. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“Thank you for taking such good care of me. I’m sorry I was silly.”

“Never silly, Illya. You do know that there’s nothing we can’t talk about? No problem so big or awful that we can’t solve it together?” He sat on the edge of the bed and Illya could smell his aftershave.

“Some problems can’t be solved, Napoleon. They must simply be endured.”

“One day, we’re going to have a long talk, but not today. Close your eyes, Illya, and go to sleep.” His fingers rubbed little circles at Illya’s temples, relaxing him right into sleep.


	3. Ghosts in the Castle, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of the wicked Baron is told and odd things keep happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // text// is ghost speak

Illya woke slowly content to lay cocooned in warmth. Part of his mind cataloged the sounds around him while the rest of his torpid brain refused to even try and start thinking. The crackle of a fire and the slight hiss of the steam radiator were first. Somewhere far away a woman sang a lullaby to a sleepy baby. He couldn't quite understand the words but the melody was soothing.

Smiling, he allowed the sound to carry him back to sleep.

******************** 

This time, he awoke to the sound of a snore. He was almost too warm now and his eyelids popped open in spite of himself. The wooden canopy of crisscrossed oak planks fascinated him with their intricate carvings of leaf and vine. Somewhere in his confused mind, the vine of polished wood became the woven green vine of the rug he’d seen someplace else.

It was good to see that his vine had come to be with him here in this safe place.

Another snore and he turned his head to see his bed mate’s dark head. Napoleon’s profile was pure Italian Renaissance . . . one of the Medici’s perhaps. This was one of his best secret times. Sometimes when they were traveling, he got to watch his partner sleep and he could take the time to look his fill without fear of discovery. All the lines smoothed out and Napoleon looked at peace with himself and the rest of the world.

It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed for sometimes it was safer to stay together than to go their separate ways. Of course, those were the times when Napoleon reined in his libido and didn’t seduce the stewardess/teacher/bar maid/etc. Illya had long since lost track of who his partner was romancing. It never seemed to bring him the joy that he deserved.

Illya didn’t want to be envious of the women but sometimes when he was very tired and heart-sore, he imagined that all the women of the world just disappeared. Vanished into the dark, leaving only men to comfort each other. Of course, Napoleon might choose another man like Mark Slade, someone light-hearted and joyful instead of frozen and gloomy like him.

But today he could look his fill and hope very hard for another day with just he and his partner. It seemed a shame to waste it sleeping but already his eyes were heavy and drooping. Turning slightly so Napoleon’s face was the last thing he saw, he stored up more memories with a gentle touch of his arm and the reassuring throb of a heart beat in the vulnerable throat of his friend.

His friend – it would have to be enough.

******************** 

The clink of crockery and a low voiced conversation pulled him from sleep.

Napoleon and a . . . waiter were talking about the menu for dinner and for the first time in what seemed like forever, Illya felt the stirrings of hunger. Opening his eyes just a little, he watched his partner reading a menu card and making selections one at a time while the waiter patiently wrote down his wishes. Wishes . . . he had so many.

Wish one – Napoleon would fall passionately in love with his male partner.

Wish two – Illya would suddenly gain the confidence and ability to seduce him.

Wish three – They would make love slowly for long hours.

Wish four – World peace would be declared.

Illya sighed and told his silly self to go back into hiding. None of those wishes had a hope in hell of coming true. He was beginning to feel more practical which probably meant that the drug was wearing off and the lovely feeling of being able to say whatever he wanted was passing away. He mourned the all too brief moments of clarity when he’d been so sure of what he wanted.

“Illya, you’re awake. How does lamb sound for dinner?” Napoleon handed the card back to the waiter and crossed to the bed.

“That sounds nice. Maybe more tea with lemon?” He still craved the familiar taste of a home long disappeared into the mists of his childhood.

The familiar smile appeared and his partner nodded. “But of course, Illya. And an even better dessert than at lunch.”

Illya felt his lips curl up in the kind of smile he rarely allowed. “Something chocolate?”

“Most definitely, my friend. Feel up to a trip to the bathroom? You need to get some more liquid into you.”

“Then I shouldn’t go to the bathroom because I’ll just get rid of what I drank earlier.” Illya felt a little silly and hoped that meant the drug was still helping him.

Napoleon chuckled. “So true, but let’s try it anyway.”

“Okay.” He tried to get his arms out from under the duvet but the more he tried, the more tangled up he got.

“Let me help, Illya.” Napoleon pulled back the comforter in one easy motion and Illya shivered at the sudden rush of cooler air. “It won’t be so bad when you get up and start moving around. I was thinking that we could eat by the fire place tonight.”

He helped Illya sit up, holding him upright until the room stopped swirling around him. “That sounds nice.”

The warm hand was back, stroking his neck with tantalizing strokes that soothed and enticed at the same time. Illya felt the urge to arch up into Napoleon’s hand like a cat might. He wasn’t any too sure that he wasn’t purring too. “Do you think I was a cat in another life, Pasha?”

“A hedonistic cat? Hm-m-m, might be, Illya. We’ll make a cozy nest by the fireplace for after dinner where you can curl up and practice your purring.” His chuckle lasted all the way into the bathroom. After making sure that Illya was steady, he retreated into the bedroom.

Illya sighed while relieving himself. Precious time was slipping away and still he could not gather the courage to speak to his partner. Nothing in his life had ever lasted very long and he enjoyed the chance to study and research for a worthwhile agency. His partnership with Napoleon was the brightest part of his life, the one thing that kept him from becoming an inhuman scientist who existed only for the laboratory. But to keep him as a partner and keep his work for UNCLE, he would have to stay silent.

As he pulled up his fleece pants, he felt a cold draft of air swirl by and heard a deep sigh from behind him. Turning too quickly, he saw . . . no one, right before he folded to the floor in a dizzying heap. “Oh . . . blast.”

“Illya?” A concerned voice was followed by a concerned partner. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“I . . . guess so. Does it feel cold in here to you?” Illya decided to say nothing of the sigh. Maybe there were more side effects to that drug than he’d felt so far.

“Maybe a little. Let’s get you back to the fire so you can warm up.” Napoleon lifted him to his feet and walked him over to the wingback chair near the stone fireplace.

“This is better, Napoleon.” Illya sank down and felt the chair envelope him. The soft blanket that his partner spread over his legs added to the warmth.

“Good. Now, I believe you wanted tea.” Napoleon brought over a silver tea service and set it down on the small table at Illya’s side. Handing him a steaming glass cup, he sat down across from him and elegantly crossed his legs.

The fire light flickered over Napoleon’s face and once again, Illya saw him dressed in velvet with a poniard looped in his silver link belt. Blinking hard, he morphed back to his friend’s familiar features and Illya wondered if the Medici blood flowed through his veins. It seemed like a good time to ask, so he did.

Napoleon laughed, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “Well, not that I know of but then genealogy has never been one of my hobbies.”

“No, you wouldn’t have time to spare from chasing snow bunnies.” Illya said dreamily while he watched the flames and sipped his tea.

“I’m thinking of giving up snow bunnies. I need to spend more time taking better care of my partner.”

“And stewardesses. You can’t give them up.” Illya sighed and huddled a little deeper into the chair.

“Well, now that you mention it, I’m thinking of giving them up as well.” Napoleon said apologetically. “They seem to take a lot of energy that I could use doing something else.”

“Really?” Illya couldn’t quite make himself believe that although it sounded very nice.

“I think it would be very nice, too.” Napoleon said gently and Illya realized he’d spoken his thought out loud.

Illya could feel himself blush and he hoped that his partner would think it was the fire. “Tell me more about the history of this place, please. I think maybe I was dozing when you talked about it before.”

“Certainly. It’s a story about a wicked Baron, a beautiful woman, a family feud and a murder.” Napoleon settled back and swung his foot in lazy circles. “The two reigning families of this region had been at loggerheads for several generations. In 1585, Baron Randolpho kidnapped the daughter of his neighbor and married her in the family chapel here in the castle. Whether she was willing or not, the Lady Maria soon presented her new Lord with a healthy son and heir. The feud grew less and eventually when the child was two, her father sent her younger brother over for a visit. The report must have been a good one for young Lord Willim stayed for a prolonged visit. He and his brother-in-law were soon seen riding and hunting all along the valley. The Baron seemed to be a changed man, laughing and singing in the evenings with his guests and family.”

Illya felt as if he was living within the story web that Napoleon was spinning.

“One day, however, a great catastrophe occurred. Lord Willim was found dead at the foot of the parapet wall. Lady Maria accused her husband of murdering her brother. She packed up her son and fled back to her father’s castle. And for whatever reason, the Baron allowed it. Rumors soon began to circulate about a ghost that haunted him until he went into seclusion. From that moment on, he immured himself in this castle and was rarely seen in public. His family priest moved out to the village and the castle personnel went there for mass. As far as the Baron was concerned, he banned all talk of religion from his presence. Soon, vague tales began to circulate about odd strangers that came at night, only to be gone by morning. Unholy acts and the Black Arts were practiced deep in the castle dungeons, it was rumored. One morning, he was found dead in the same spot where young Lord Willim’s body had lain. It’s his ghost that supposed to walk these halls. Doomed for eternity to wander until he’s paid for the crime of murder.”

“How sad.” Illya sniffed and felt tears well up. “The poor Baron.”

Napoleon hesitated in the act of handing him the Kleenex box. “Excuse me? I’ve never heard that reaction before.”

“But it’s so obvious that the Baron was really in love with Willim and when the young man died, his heart was broken. The Church would have condemned their love so of course he had to send the priest away. I wonder if he kept trying to contact the young man’s spirit. That would explain the Black Art rumors.” Illya blew his nose and heard that sigh again.

Napoleon shivered and cast a sharp look around. “You know, there is a draft around here. I wonder if the maid left a window open or something?”

Getting up, he headed for the bank of heavy velvet drapes against the far wall. Illya saw a glimmer from the corner of his eye, a flash of blue that came and went in a moment. But the flash was accompanied by a warmth that he didn’t associate with the cold-sigher.

Could there be more than one ghost?

Illya closed his eyes and opened his senses. The far away music lilted in an unfamiliar melody and now he could hear masculine laughter that echoed up from the floor below. Almost he could see the dining hall with a long table groaning beneath a feast of varied dishes. He saw the Baron, dark and older with deep grooves in his face, a face that up until now rarely smiled. But the brown eyes looked fondly on the smiling, vivacious face of the young man with the glowing blue gaze.

“Illya?” The weight of Napoleon’s hand on his shoulder brought him back to the here and now. “Are you all right?”

“Um . . . yes, I’m fine. Do we have the time to take a walk before dinner?” Illya cast his gaze up. “I want to stretch my legs. Please?”

“All right, but just a short walk. You’ve been pretty out of it for the last two days.”

“Thank you. Could we take the elevator down and find the chapel? If it’s still there.”

Napoleon’s look was quizzical to say the least. “Okay, no problem. It’s on the first floor and it’s still a chapel, although no formal services are held any longer.”

“Good.” Illya nodded decisively and pulled the blanket off so he could stand.

“Wait a minute. Let me get your slippers so your feet don’t get cold.” His partner hurried to bring him his soft leather shoes, kneeling to slip them on over his white socks. “Okay, ready to go?”

“Yes, please.” Illya stood on his own, swaying only a little before gripping Napoleon’s arm and moving forward.

His partner kept their pace slow and they slowly walked back down the hall to the gleaming doors of the small elevator. The trip down made Illya feel a little dizzy but he hid the reaction from Napoleon. For some reason, he felt he had to go to the chapel and he had to go now. On the first floor, they met one of the staff who asked them if there was anything they needed. Napoleon told him of their visit and the young man hurried ahead to open the dark oak paneled door.

The chapel was small and dark with only a single white unlit candle on the small stone altar. The cross on the wall was polished wood that shone to Illya’s eyes like a beacon. Crossing himself as he hadn’t since childhood, he made his way shakily to the first bench on the left. Napoleon stood quietly just behind him, his hands gently holding Illya’s shoulders in case he got dizzy.

Closing his eye, Illya opened himself to the air currents and immediately felt the cold shiver he was beginning to associate with the dark Baron. The sound of heart breaking sobs resounded through the air and behind his eyelids, he built the scene from so many years before. A gleaming coffin placed before the altar and a myriad of candles that scented the air with bayberry came to his mind. A kneeling figure rocked back and forth in a grief almost too great for expression.

The hollow groan came from the bottom of a soul in torment and Illya felt tears stream down his cheeks in reaction. But into that scene came a ghostly shape of glowing white that tried to catch the Baron’s attention. Waving his hands in front of the weeping man, he shouted into the air but could not be heard. For some reason, Illya understood his words.

//You did not kill me. It was an accident, Ran. I tripped and couldn’t catch myself. This is not your fault. Not your fault.//

“Illya . . . Illya!” Napoleon was shaking him and Illya came out of his trance with a start. “What the hell is going on here? You went white and I thought you were going to pass out.”

“I’m sorry, Pasha.” Illya blinked into the worried face before him. “I think I saw the poor Baron grieving for his Willim. It wasn’t his fault, Napoleon but he can’t hear Willim. I think they’re both still here and have been for the last four hundred years.”

Beyond Napoleon’s dark head, the candle burst into flame.


	4. Ghosts in the Castle, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does Illya believe in ghosts?

Illya lay in the large bed and thought about what had happened in the chapel. Napoleon had hustled him out of the room, not even noticing the candle flame. He castigated himself all the way up to their room and insisted that Illya go straight to bed. Something about the whole affair seemed to distress him greatly and Illya hated worrying him so he’d quietly done as ordered.

For some reason, that seemed to make Napoleon even more nervous. The quiet conversation on the other side of the room consisted of his partner telling the tall bearded doctor from the village about Illya’s concussion and drugging. When they came to the bed, Illya resolved to say nothing about the ghosts. Maybe they were a result of the drug but he wanted to help them and he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t allowed out of bed.

So he smiled sweetly at the doctor and performed all the tests requested. Napoleon hovered nervously at the other side of the bed, watching each motion and listening to every question. Illya felt the slight burn of a fever even before the thermometer confirmed the diagnosis. He felt as if he were a child while the grownups argued over his body. His gaze moved back and forth until he firmly closed his eyes and stubbornly took himself out of the equation.

It felt too warm under the covers now and he pushed them away so he could breathe easier. That got the others attention and suddenly he was being touched from both sides. The doctor’s touch was cool and impersonal but Napoleon’s felt worried to him. So he opened his eyes and sent a reassuring smile to his partner.

“Some aspirin, Herr Solo and your friend will work his way through the rest of this drug. Whatever it is. Plenty of fluids and gentle exercise will move it along quickly. I shall leave a thermometer with you. If it rises higher than 102 degrees, have the front desk give me a call. Keep him covered even though the fever will make him wish to dress less warmly. Any questions?”

“Thank you, Doctor. I feel much better already.” Illya said brightly with a sunny smile that made Napoleon send him a questioning look.

“Yes, thank you, Doctor Teller. I’ll keep a close eye on him.” Napoleon walked him to the door and shook his hand in farewell.

Illya took the chance to sit up and plop a couple of pillows behind his. He wasn’t ready to lose the jogging suit but the duvet was too hot for him now. The dizziness came and went but he was determined not to give into it. His smile seemed to make Napoleon jittery so he went back to his somber self, hating the need to hide from his partner. He looked out of the window and watched the clouds race by in a darkening sky.

Why did he believe in the ghosts? He was a scientist who believed in verifiable data and experiments that always yielded the same result. If an answer was true, it was always true. So where did phantoms fit in such a world? Again, he traveled back in time to those memories of the only time when he was safe and loved.

Grandmama, with her prayer beads, had held him on her broad lap, rocking back and forth while she prayed for the family and the village. She’d never been farther than a mile from their tiny village and had no desire to ever do so. She told him stories about the creatures that lived deep in the woods, waiting for a little boy to get lost so they could eat him up. Or better yet, she would tell him ghost stories about his very own ancestors. 

Mama would scold her mother-in-law about frightening Illya when she swooped down and plucked him from Grandmama’s lap. Mama told him stories about school and books and what fun there would be when Illya got old enough to learn and study. Although, he’d done what his mother had wanted even after she died, deep inside he never forgot the scary stories and his Grandmama’s knowledge that more existed in the world than you could see or touch.

He smiled to himself but presented a sober face to Napoleon. “I’m sorry to be such a worry, Napoleon. Is that aspirin for me?”

His partner started as if his own thoughts had been far away. “Yes, two now and we’ll see if you need more before bed.”

Illya took the glass of water and white tablets quietly. The fever made him feel as if the world was skewed and nothing was quite what it seemed. Swallowing the cool water felt good and he allowed himself to show his pleasure. “Thank you, Pasha. You take good care of me.”

“Do I, Illya?” The dark eyes were in brooding mode. “It doesn’t look that way to me. I should have known that the walk would be too much for you, so soon after your concussion.”

“Not your fault, Napoleon. I needed to see the chapel. It reminded me of my childhood and the black robed priest with the long beard who came secretly to give mass to our village. I didn’t realize it at the time but each time we participated, we were breaking the law.” He lay back against the pillows and patted the bed beside him. “I can still smell the incense and see the funny shadows that the candles cast on the wall behind our kitchen table. That was what we used when it was our turn to host him.”

“You’ve never spoken much of your early life.” Napoleon sat down and Illya laid his hand over the tanned hand on the cover.

“It has been years since I brought the memories out of hiding. Years since I allowed myself to remember the happy times and the love that surrounded me for my first four years of life. Oh, Napoleon, did I do wrong to suppress them so they wouldn’t hurt so much?” Illya felt tears well and stopped them with a touch of that iron control he’d learned in the gulag.

Napoleon’s warm hands cradled his between them. “Illya, I have no idea whether it was good or bad. You did it and survived. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to go from a loving home to the frigid wastes of the gulag. You were five years old and suddenly had no family to protect you. You grew up, studied hard and made something of your life. I expect that your parents would be very proud of you.”

Illya nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. The silence crept outward like a fog, encompassing the room before moving out into the castle. For one perfect moment, Illya felt as if anything was possible. In a small whisper, he told Napoleon the secret of how he’d survived.

“At first, I was cold and tired and scared. I hid under one of the cots and rocked myself to sleep. In my dream, Mama came to me and held me close. She hummed my favorite lullaby and told me that everything would be all right.” He paused, holding onto Napoleon’s hand. “Then, she told me that she had to go away to make sure that Papa and Grandmama were all right. It might be a very long time before I saw her again. I asked her not to go but she shook her head and smiled. ‘The light is calling, Illyusha. Watch for the light, little one. You’ll always be safe there.’ And there was light everywhere, bright and shining like the sun on a cold Spring day. She kissed me and hugged me tight. ‘It’s not your time, Illyusha. Live, learn everything you can and never forget that you are loved.’ Then she walked away into the light and I awoke to life in the gulag.”

There were tears in Napoleon’s eyes and he had a very tight hold on Illya’s hand but that felt good so he didn’t complain. They sat like that for a long moment and Illya felt lighter, as if he’d shed some giant weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying. In fact the only thing holding him down to the bed was Napoleon’s hand. How odd, he thought, I wonder if the poor Baron has such a heavy load to carry.

The ringing of the telephone on the desk startled them apart and Napoleon got up to answer it. Illya watched him move across the room and idly wandered if his innate grace came from dance lessons or some American sport that he’d played as a child. The end of the conversation brought Napoleon’s attention back to him.

“Dinner will be here in half an hour. Do you want to eat in bed or by the fire?”

“By the fire, please.” Illya swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood by himself, if a bit shakily. He could feel Napoleon’s eyes on him like a soft caress and he hugged it to him like another secret. “But first, I need to use the bathroom again so you can make me drink more fluids. The water here is very good.”

“They have their own well.” Napoleon said absentmindedly, his face caught in some thought that had never occurred to him before.

Illya wondered what his friend would do with the memories he’d handed to him. What conclusions would he reach? Would he see Illya as weak or as someone who had to be taken care of? Or might he perhaps share some of his early life? While he washed his hands, he pondered what turns their friendship might take in the future. Smiling to himself, he thought he just might be able to let himself be a little less sober when they were alone.

Walking out to the sitting room, he felt stronger than he’d felt since waking up in the hospital. He chose the chair he’d used earlier, tucking his legs up under him so he could curl into the roomy seat. Napoleon was taking to someone on his communicator and Illya wondered if Mr. Waverly had a job for them. He hoped not since this was the first real vacation they’d had in two years.

He chuckled silently and laid his head back against the dark green back, his eyes finally looking at the woven tapestry above the bed. It was a hunting scene and he had no trouble deciding that the dark haired man on the lead horse was the Baron. But close behind him was a slim young man with flowing blonde hair, laughing at the thrill of the chase.

Young Willim, without a doubt. What had happened so many years ago? Why did Maria accuse her husband of murder? The ghost in the chapel had spoken of an accident. How could he find out the truth without worrying Napoleon? 

“Illya, how do you feel?” The soft question came from his side.

He looked up into the concerned face and smiled. “Better. Not so dizzy and I think I may be hungry.”

The slow smile was his reward, that and the gentle pat on his shoulder. “I’m glad. Dinner should be here any minute.”

“Was that Mr. Waverly you were talking to?”

“No, I called Dr. Brunel back in Zug to see if your blood tests had come back. I thought maybe they might have identified the drug.” Napoleon sat on the arm of his chair and went into his think-mode. “Because I had no reaction at all except for being knocked unconscious. My blood tested normal except for a narcotic. While yours appears to be a cocktail of several drugs. One of which was a truth serum.”

“They must be very angry that you woke up and got us out of there. Perhaps they were just experimenting and got the mixture wrong.” Illya couldn’t really be angry since except for the pain in his head, he’d rather enjoyed the new intimacy that had grown between them. Which would soon be over, he thought sadly.

“Illya, I hope you realize that whatever you tell me is safe with me. You’re my friend and I’m honored that you trust me with the stories of your past.” 

The words seemed like an echo of his thoughts and Illya just nodded since the lump in his throat wouldn’t let him talk. A knock at the door broke the spell they seemed to be under and Napoleon sighed before going and letting the waiter in. The young man deftly moved the center table between them, whipping a white table cloth over the polished oak and setting out the meal with precise movements that fascinated Illya.

He always enjoyed watching a competent craftsman. The place settings were placed first, then the covered dishes arranged to be an equal distance between them. He talked while he worked, mentioning the weather forecast for the next day and some of the gentle walks they might want to take.

“That sounds wonderful. Perhaps later in the week when the sun comes out.” Napoleon smiled charmingly at him.

“Rudy, can you tell me how the ghost manifests itself? And where?” Illya tried out the sunny smile that had worked on the doctor.

His hands faltered for just a moment before continuing. “It is just a story, Herr Kuryakin. But sometimes there is a cold spot in the chapel and one on the parapet at the roof level. One of our guests said he heard music coming from the Great Hall.”

“What about a woman’s voice singing a lullaby to a fretful child?”

His eyes met Illya’s for a startled moment. “Yes, Herr Kuryakin, the nursery was on this floor.”

“Thank you, Rudy.” Illya laid his head back and closed his eyes. The fever didn’t seem to be responding to the aspirin. The homey clink of dishes and silver took him back again to his childhood kitchen table. He’d been small and he could still remember how proud he was when Mama had told him he could sit at the table with them.

“Illya?” Napoleon was back after shutting the door behind the waiter.

“When I was three, Mama told me that I was such a big boy that I could join them at the table for dinner. Papa complained that it took four books to set me high enough so I could see my plate but his eyes were twinkling when he said it so I knew it was all right. One of the books was the Complete Works of Plato. I always wondered what happened to it when the soldiers came. When I got to University, I found a copy in the library and read it from cover to cover. For a moment, I could almost feel Papa’s presence.”

The touch on his hand brought his eyes open to see Napoleon kneeling by his chair. “Nana Rebecca sat me in a wooden high chair that had been my father’s. The day I graduated to a booster chair that sat on one of the dining room chairs, I was so proud of myself. But I refused to drink my milk from the covered cup with two handles. I folded my arms and shook my head no. That cup was for babies. So Nana filled one of the smaller juice glasses half full and told me use it instead. But if I spilled a drop there would be no swimming that afternoon.”

“Ah, so you come by your stubbornness naturally?” Illya tried to keep a straight face but failed dismally, letting his laughter out to join Napoleon’s chuckle.

“Yes, I’m afraid I do.” He stood and brushed the hair from Illya’s forehead. “But I didn’t spill a drop either. I was taught at an early age to take care of beautiful things.”

Illya felt the blush surge up. He must have misheard him. Surely Napoleon couldn’t be calling his partner . . . beautiful. There was nothing he could say, nothing that wouldn’t come out wrong, so he changed the subject. “I’m hungry and you promised me something wonderful for dessert.”

Napoleon sat down across from him and removed the largest silver dome. “No dessert until you eat all your vegetables as my Nana would say.”

Illya smiled. “That must be a universal saying of grandmothers everywhere.”

Dinner passed slowly while they ate and spoke of their earliest childhood. Illya had been an adventurous child always exploring the woods near the village. Napoleon had been an athlete at an early age, always swimming and running. Illya had gone bird watching then gone home to sketch them for his father. Napoleon had enjoyed bedtime stories but hadn’t been in a hurry to read them for himself. Illya had listened to his father read aloud from Plato, Marcus Aurelius and other ancient writers. His first reading lesson had come from Homer’s Illiad in Greek.

Napoleon was still shaking his head at that while he removed their empty plate onto the bottom shelf of the cart the waiter had left. Two clean plates appeared and the last silver dome was raised to reveal two pieces of chocolate pie. “They call it Ambrosia and it is supposed to be a secret recipe of the cook’s.”

“How decadent.” Illya sat up straighter and reached for a clean fork. “Only a true hedonist could enjoy this pie.” He cut through the tip, easily sliding through the whipped cream and sprinkles. That bite melted on his tongue and he savored the rich chocolate with a sigh. “This is better than sex.”

Napoleon choked on his pie and began to laugh helplessly. Illya watched him with a smug feeling of accomplishment. It wasn’t often that he released his partner’s true laughter. They’d both been taught at an early age to be polite and not too forward in their dealings with others. Genteel laughter rather than belly laughs had been the rule.

Illya continued eating while the laughter from the other side of the table gradually became chuckles. In the firelight, Napoleon looked younger and less sharp edged than usual. The past few months had honed him to a fighting blade of lethal proportions. Toledo steel, Illya decided, with a razor edge and the delicate flex of true steel.

“Thank you, Illya. It’s been a long time since I laughed that hard.” Napoleon cast an affectionate look at him and took another bite. He swallowed and smiled. “I think you may be right, it is better than sex. It ranks right up there with . . . making love. A very different proposition entirely.”

Illya laid down his fork and leaned back, suddenly tired. “I don’t have much experience with making love. I will have to take your word for it.”

Napoleon opened his mouth to say something but evidently thought better of it, taking another bite instead. Illya felt himself begin to float again as his temperature spiked up. Closing his eyes, he tried to find his center, the way he’d been taught at the University. But it kept slipping away from him. 

“Illya, slip this under your tongue.” Napoleon’s hand was so cool against his cheek that he leaned into it with a sigh.

“It’s hot, Pasha. Why is it so hot?” He accepted the thermometer and held it between lips that felt curiously numb.

Napoleon’s hand was on his forehead now and it felt so good that Illya was hard pressed not to purr for him. Maybe he really had been a cat in a previous life. That was funny so when the thermometer was taken away, he told Napoleon his theory.

“At the moment, you’re a kitten with a temperature of 101 degrees.”

“I think I’d like to take a bath, Pasha. Would that be all right?” Illya opened heavy eyes and peered into Napoleon’s worried gaze. “Please?”

“It can’t do any harm and it might even help bring down your temp. I’ll go start it then I’ll come back to get you. Stay right here, please.”

Illya just smiled at him and closed his eyes again. It seemed like only a moment before his partner was back; helping him to his feet and guiding his weaving steps to the bathroom. He kept him upright while Illya pulled off his clothes, steadying him when a movement put him off balance. The room was suddenly cold and Illya slid into the hot water with a sigh of bliss.

Napoleon stayed with him, watching him like a hawk. He’d always wanted to tell him about the hawk that lived near their village because he reminded Illya of him. So he did. The red-tailed hawk had been one of his favorites and he’d sketched him many times for his father. He told Napoleon about the way he flew so high before diving to catch his prey. And how his papa had climbed the tree with Illya holding onto his back so he could see the nest built high in the oak tree about a mile from the village.

All too soon his energy gave out and he let Napoleon help him out and dry him off. Instead of putting on the jogging suit again, he pulled a soft t-shirt over his head and let it settle like a cloud around his body. “I always pack this old thing because it feels so good. Is it all right?”

“It smells like you. Of course, it’s all right.” Illya smiled and let Napoleon tuck him into bed after pulling a pair of thick socks over his feet. “Good night, Pasha. I’ll be better in the morning.”

“Sleep tight, Illya. Do you need anything else?”

You. But Illya knew better than to say it out loud. Instead he shook his head and closed his eyes. Through the cotton wool that seemed to fill his head, he heard the sweet voice singing a lullaby to her baby. Napoleon’s fingers were soothing those gentle circles onto his temples where the headache was lodged and he let himself be lulled to sleep between the pair of them.


	5. Ghosts in the Castle, part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya helps right an ancient wrong.

Illya felt the warm gust of air first then an insistent whisper that brought him out of the depths of sleep.

“Please . . . please . . . please . . . wake up . . . wake . . . up.”

He opened his eyes to almost total darkness. He was looking at Napoleon’s dark head on the pillow beside him. Turning his head towards the room, he saw a night-light shining from the bathroom. Then without turning his head further, from the corner of his eye, he saw a faint luminescence that moved towards the bed then back to the door again.

Biting his lip, he thought about how safe and warm he felt. If he rolled back over, he could go right back to sleep and never have to deal with a ghost on a four hundred-year-old mission. Putting his rational mind back to sleep, he stealthily slid from the bed so deftly that not even a smidgen of cold air got to Napoleon. Creeping to the bathroom, he found the jogging suit hung on the back of the door.

Getting dressed, he peeked back into the other room and spied his slippers under the chair by the dying fire. Tiptoeing across the room, he put them on then slipped out through their door to the corridor. Closing his eyes, he felt the tug towards the old mirror at the end of the hall. The walls around him seemed to be moving in and out but he made it to the last door on the left only to find it slowly opening for him.

The door revealed old stone steps and the luminescence moved up them like a light for his feet. He sighed and followed it up and up for at least two stories before the door at the top of the stairs loomed in front of him. There was a padlock on a hasp but with a click, the ghost opened it for him. He could hear the wind howling outside as if a hurricane awaited him but when he stepped out, it died away completely.

He stood on the old stone parapet where once sentries would have walked their rounds. Perhaps they might have fought off an attack with the crossbows the Swiss were so famous for. The warm air caressed him then moved off down the narrow flagstones. Illya came after it, intent on solving this mystery once and for all.

“Here . . . here . . . here”

“Is this where you fell from?” Illya asked gently at the top of another set of steps.

“Accident . . . accident . . .”

“Was the Baron with you when you fell?”

“Before . . . before”

“He was with you then he left and . . . you ran after him and slipped?”

“Yes . . . no . . . yes . . . no”

“How can it be both?” Illya pondered a moment. “He was with you then he left.”

“Yes . . . yes”

“Was someone else here?”

“Yes”

“Did they push you down the stairs?”

“Accident . . . accident”

“Did you fall down the stairs because of something they did?”

Silence. Illya sighed and ran both hands through his hair. If only they could communicate better. The warm wind wrapped itself around him for an instant and Illya caught a mental picture of two men hugging. “If we are mind to mind, will you be able to show me what happened?”

“Yes . . . yes . . . yes”

He took a deep breath and opened his arms for the ghost’s embrace. Warmth enveloped him both inside and out. Closing his eyes, he shared the memories of 400 years before. Two men walked the parapet, side by side. The young man was Willim and he/Illya was talking about his impending return home to his father’s castle for his betrothal ceremony.

He/Illya didn’t want to go. He would miss Maria and Ran and his nephew Lorenzo. The older man stopped and leaned both hands on the parapet, looking out over his lands. //We will miss you too, Will. It has been . . . a joy to have you visit.//

//Your friendship means so much to me, Ran.//

//Friendship. Yes, we have become friends, haven’t we?//

//What’s wrong, Ran? You have grown so pale. Are you feeling unwell?//

//I have been unwell for quite some time, Will.//

Willim/Illya reached out to touch his arm. //Is it a sickness the healers can cure?//

//No. There is no cure but it won’t kill me, dearest Will. How soon must you leave?//

//Tomorrow. Father is sending a troop to make sure I get home safely and don’t take any detours.// Crystalline laughter sounded inside Illya’s head. //He knows what I think of this betrothal.//

//You are young and Lady Giselle is reputed to be beautiful.//

//Hah! She has the soul of a fishwife and a tongue to match. Why do you think she’s still unmarried at eighteen?//

//After you are married, if it gets to be too much, you know you can always come visit us for a safe haven.//

//I wish it were so. But our lands will be three day’s travel from Father’s in the opposite direction. Something tells me that I will not see you again for a long time.//

Illya heard something suspiciously like a sob come from the forlorn young man and then felt him/them wrapped in strong arms. //I fear the same. How can I bear to let you go, young Will? You take my heart with you when you go.//

//Ran?// In his innocence, he wondered what the older man meant so the kiss that followed seared his heart and soul with a flame he couldn’t begin to understand. It was fire and ice and so very wonderful that he never wanted it to end. This was his beloved Ran who had cared for him for months, as gently as he’d always wished his father would care.

But this was not a fatherly kiss.

This had all the passion that he had hoped might come from the woman he was to marry. Then it hit him. This was his sister’s husband. He belonged to Maria and what they were doing was so wrong. He/they pushed against the arms that held him so tightly and they fell away instantly.

//Forgive me, Willim.// And Ran left him, running quickly down the steps as if all the demons of hell were after him.

Willim/Illya stood there bewildered. Then a hint of perfume came to him and he turned to see his sister standing like an Avenging Fury.

//You are the reason he has shunned my bed. He never loved me. He must have married me thinking I was a substitute for you. I hate you both.//

He tried to dodge the slap that followed but it overbalanced him and he fell backward down the steps, his sister’s horrified face the last thing he saw.

Illya found himself weeping for the waste of it. He/Willim leaned against the parapet wall and looked out into the dark night, tears on his/their cheeks.

“Willim?”

He/they turned and there was Napoleon but not Napoleon. It was tricky but Illya saw his partner while Willim saw Randolpho.

“Ran, can you truly see me?”

“Yes.” But he looked unsure as if he couldn’t tell. “But you are dead. I killed you.”

“No, you didn’t, Ran.” Willim/Illya stepped forward and placed his hands on the robe-clad shoulders. 

“The kiss disgusted you.” Ran/Napoleon sighed and Willim/Illya felt the cold intensify.

“It startled me, Ran. I didn’t know that men could kiss . . . like that. I liked it.” He/they smiled. “I don’t know what might have happened but Maria saw us.”

“Maria?” Ran/Napoleon frowned.

“She must have followed us. She said that you had never loved her and when she slapped me, I overbalanced and fell. It was not your fault.” He/they shook the broad shoulders to make his/their point.

“Maria. That’s why she accused me. She got her revenge on both of us with that one action.” Ran/Napoleon raised a hand and stroked Willim/Illya’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, dearest Will. You should have had a long and happy life.”

“Don’t be sorry, Ran.” Willim/Illya moved just far enough to nuzzle into the palm that cradled his/their cheek. “I love you and it wouldn’t have been such a happy life without you.”

“You were always so bright, my love. From the first moment I saw you, I wanted you. But you were only sixteen and I knew there could be no hope of a life together. So, I married Maria, perhaps hoping that she would be a feminine version of you. But she was not. There is no one to compare with you.” His/their other hand came up to stroke Willim/Illya’s other cheek.

“And there is no one like you, Ran. We have been here long enough. Come home with me now. Please?”

A ball of light began to grow beside them. The glow spilled over the old stone and embraced them with warmth.

“Home is where ever you are, Will.”

“Then let go of your sorrow and the false guilt that’s kept you here. My death was not your fault.”

“It’s so bright.”

“Come with me, Ran. The light is calling. Can you hear it?” Willim/Illya smiled up at him.

The look of joy that crossed Randolpho/Napoleon’s face erased years of sorrow. “I hear it, Will. Where ever you go, I will follow.”

“Oh, love. Come.”

Willim/Illya leaned up and kissed Ran/Napoleon for the first time in four hundred years. For a moment they were four then there were only two.

//Thank you.// The whisper was the last thing Illya heard before the bright light faded away.

Napoleon’s lips were warm and inviting but Illya made himself move back. “Napoleon?”

“Illya.” He shook his head. “What just happened?”

“Let’s go back to the room, Napoleon. I’m getting cold.”

“What are you doing out here without a coat?” He looked around. “What the hell am I doing out here?”

“Think of it as a mission, Napoleon. We just helped right a wrong and put two people together that had been kept apart because of a lie.” Illya led the way off the stone parapet and back down the stairs.

Napoleon followed him silently and Illya wondered how he could explain why he’d ended up kissing his partner after being possessed by a ghost.

Opening their door, he turned on the light and hurried over to the fire embers. Removing the screen, he reached for a stick of wood only to find Napoleon’s hand there first. “Let me, Illya. I’ll make up the fire if you’ll pour us both a drink from the sideboard.”

Illya nodded and stood too quickly, feeling the room waver around him. But only for a moment because Napoleon had hold of him and he was safe held in his strong embrace. “Thank you, Pasha. I’m all right. Just a little dizzy.”

“Running around at all hours of the night will do that to you.” His tone of voice was dry but Illya heard the note of hurt.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Pasha.” Illya rested his head on the convenient shoulder. “It all got mixed up in my mind. I was the only one who seemed to be able to hear him. And he loved Randolpho so very much.”

The hand that rose to stroke the back of his neck trembled just a little. “And Randolpho loved him more than life itself.”

They stood there for a long moment before Napoleon sighed and let Illya go. “I need a drink, Illya. Then you can explain what you think happened.”

Illya nodded and moved to the sideboard to check out the selection. He knew that Napoleon preferred scotch so he picked up the amber bottle and poured him a generous measure. There was a decanter of sherry at one end and he poured a glass for himself. At the moment, vodka still reminded him of being drugged. Taking a sip, he found it rather sweet but decided that for now it would do.

Coming back to the fire, he found Napoleon sitting on the hearth, his gaze unfocused on the room around him. Illya wanted no distance between them so he curled up beside him, holding both drinks until Napoleon came back to him. Gazing at the beloved face, he relived for just a moment the kiss. It might be the only one he’d ever get from his partner and he wished with all his heart that it had been longer . . . deeper . . . real.

He sighed and brought his legs up a little closer to his chest. He couldn’t even blame it on the drug because he had a suspicion that the fever had burned it out of him.

“Is that mine?” Napoleon smiled faintly and he nodded, handing him the scotch and meeting his eyes. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. Are you very angry with me, Napoleon?”

Startled eyes met his. “I’m not angry with you, Illya.”

“I thought you might be since I left you to go investigate by myself.”

“You’re a grown man, Illya. More than capable of working on your own.”

Oh dear, that sounded suspiciously like a hint that he didn’t want to be partners anymore. “Yes, I am. But I have found that working with a partner can be very . . . rewarding.”

“We do work well together, don’t we. Then why did you go off without me?”

Was that a note of hurt? “I wasn’t sure if you believed in ghosts, Napoleon.”

“Well, before tonight, I would have said I didn’t. But part of me seems to have embraced the idea whole-heartedly.” He took a hasty gulp of scotch.

“Randolpho was a very strong minded man, like yourself, Napoleon. For four hundred years he’d been trapped in guilt and despair. Unable to let go his fear that he was to blame for killing the young man he was trying to protect from himself. I don’t think he was quite sane the last years of his life. And his regret prevented him from seeing the Light that would have taken him home."

“Home was where Willim was.” Napoleon spoke slowly as if hearing what his own voice had said a short time before. “God! The self hatred he carried was so heavy, it almost crushed him. But he’s all right now.”

“They’re both all right now. The Light was just as I remembered from my dream. I wonder who greeted them on the other side.” Illya wrapped his arms around his knees after setting down his glass.

“And now that they’re taken care of, we need to talk about us.” Napoleon said solemnly.


	6. Ghosts in the Castle, part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can they meet in the middle?

“Do you wish to no longer partner with me?” Illya couldn’t look at the man by his side. His answer was too important.

“What? Of course, I still want you as my partner.” Napoleon set his glass down and turned towards him. “Where did that come from?”

“I tried to think of the worst thing that could happen and that was it.” Illya risked a sideways look from under his lashes.

“Not being my partner is the worst thing you could think of.” Napoleon repeated the words as if he couldn’t understand them. That little frown was back between his eyes.

“Of course. Being your partner is important to me. I have not so many friends that I can afford to lose the best one.” Illya thought he might yet be able to salvage some of Napoleon’s trust. “I understand you might be unsure of me now. It was not the scientist in me that felt it had to help Willim, but the young boy influenced by his grandmother’s old tales. However, I think the drug, whatever it was, is out of my system now so I will probably go back to being predictable soon.”

“Predictable.” Napoleon shook his head. “You think I like you predictable?”

“It would be most logical for you to wish the person who guards your back to be so predictable you would know what I will do and how. That is part of my job brief from Mr. Waverly.” Illya was tired of being logical and predictable but he was willing to do it if it would make Napoleon relax around him again.

“You would do that for me.” Napoleon seemed to be stuck in repeat mode. “Be logical and guard my back . . .”

“Of course.” Illya was beginning to tire. Being emotional took so much energy. With a sigh, he rested his chin on his knees and thought nostalgically back to the carefree hours of being drugged. Napoleon seemed to like that Illya better.

“Illya. Look at me, please.” Napoleon reached out his hand but stopped short of touching him.

Illya turned his eyes to meet the brown gaze, wondering what was going on behind the calm look. If only the drug had lasted a little longer, he could have kept on kissing Napoleon. Longer . . . deeper . . . tasted him . . . rubbed his tongue against his, maybe even nibbled a little bit on that lower lip that was so intriguing.

“Illya, what are you thinking of right this moment?”

“Your lower lip.” Illya sat up straight and clapped his hand over his mouth. It appeared the drug wasn’t quite done with him.

“My lower lip.” Napoleon was back to repeating himself. “Illya, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

He nodded then shook his head, adding his other hand to keep his mouth shut.

“Okay, I’ll go first.” He sighed and it sounded so defeated for a moment Illya almost took his hands away. “Illya, you are the most important person in my life. From the moment we were partnered, I found myself . . . relaxing with you. You’re right. I do expect you to always be there, to know what I’m thinking. You anticipate me usually. I’ve often wondered if you read my mind because sometimes it seemed I could read yours.”

Illya nodded, not wanting to interrupt the words that were confirming Napoleon’s thoughts about his place in his life.

“We’ve gotten so comfortable with each other, I began to take you for granted, to think I didn’t have to tell you ‘thank you’ or ‘good job’. Because you’d always be there for me to say it to.” He rubbed his hand against his cheek. “But this time, you didn’t wake up and the doctors couldn’t say what was wrong and you had all these bruises and I was fine . . . again.”

“I bruise easily, Napoleon. You know that. We seem to take turns some assignments for who gets hurt first or the most.”

“Lately, it’s been almost exclusively you who must be patched, stitched and healed. I’m doing a lousy job of looking after you.” He sighed. “And I hate that. I’m beginning to hate getting an assignment because it means that sooner or later, we’ll end up back in some hospital.”

“Napoleon, we have both had our share of knocks and scars. But if you can not trust me to . . . protect you, then you must speak to Mr. Waverly. I can always be reassigned to the Science section where I can not put your life in danger.” Illya was trying to be matter-of-fact but his vision kept blurring for some reason.

“Damn it, Illya. I don’t want you reassigned away from me. That’s what I’m trying to say.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it from its usually perfect shape. “I need to have you with me. Not in some lab or off on your own or, God forbid, with some other partner. I need you by my side . . . always.”

Illya felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to ask a question but he only upset Napoleon when he spoke and after all, he must be misunderstanding him. Napoleon took the decision out of his hands. With an inarticulate exclamation, he reached out a hand and pulled Illya into his lap. Unerringly, his mouth was targeted and taken by the man he considered a master at kissing.

All those women couldn’t be wrong.

All those women . . .

They were right. He was perfection. 

Illya’s brain short-circuited while cataloging flavors and textures.

So, that was what scotch tasted like through a Napoleon-filter. 

And that breathy moan was what a Napoleon-kissed person sounded like.

Sure touches that moved from shoulder to back to hip finished Illya’s meltdown.

“Always, Illya. In all ways, all the time, on the job and off. Please tell me that doesn’t make you angry or disgusted.” Napoleon’s voice shook which brought Illya back from dreamy contemplation of his partner’s lips.

“I am not angry or disgusted. Do you know how often I’ve wanted to step between you and one of your women and say, ‘not her but me – look at me’?” He raised a shaky hand and traced the lower lip he’d just tasted. “But you deserve someone better than a battered Russian with a lot of bad memories and no experience in making love. I’ve only had sex.”

“Oh, Illya.” With a helpless gesture, Napoleon held him closer, rocking him gently in strong arms. “You deserve someone better than a heartless flirt who never knew the love he’d stopped searching for was right under his nose.”

“You love me?” Illya was back to having trouble breathing.

“I’m making such a mess of this.” Napoleon kissed his temple. “I’m very bad at explaining what I feel because I haven’t done it in a very long time . . . not honestly anyway.” He took a deep breath. “I respect you more than anyone I know and yes . . . I love you.”

Illya felt tears gather in his eyes and he ducked his head into Napoleon’s shoulder and tried to take a deep breath. “I . . . I love you too. I was afraid you would be the one who was angry or disgusted.”

Warm hands stroked his back slowly. “Never, Illya, I am sometimes afraid for you and angry when you put yourself in danger to protect me. It has been a very long time since I have loved you with all my heart and wanted you with what’s left of my soul.”

Sniffing hard, Illya dared to press a kiss against the smooth throat near his cheek. “I am no prize, Pasha. My introduction to male sex came in the gulag but it was limited because of my protector’s gentleness. Sergei took care of me for ten years before he began to teach me what I would need to know if I was to survive among some of the sexual predators who prowled the camp. His strength was all that kept me from being raped as a child.”

Napoleon held him closer. “You must have been a beautiful child, Illya. I’m so glad you had someone to protect you until you could grow up to be the strong man you are today."

“I don’t feel very strong sometimes. The others at University and then the KGB said I was frigid. And in UNCLE from the beginning, they said I was a cold fish.”

“If ‘they’ are who I think they are, I want you to forget their prattle. They are gossips and people of no import. The only one whose opinion I care about is Mr. Waverly. Oh, and my Nana Rebecca’s. And yours, I crave your good opinion but I know I forfeit it when I flirt and have meaningless sex.” Napoleon’s cheek rested on Illya’s hair. “If you would like to try, I would promise to be faithful to you alone.”

“Do or do not. There is no try.” Illya remembered the line from one of his favorite movies and it slipped out.

For a moment, Napoleon was still. Then the shoulder under Illya’s cheek began to shake and his voice came unsteadily. “Um, Illya, did you just do a Yoda imitation?”

“You would make a very good Lando, Napoleon. Handsome, charming and a bit of a gambler.” Illya smiled into the broad chest.

“Then you would have to be Luke, my friend. Sent to redeem a shopworn man with too many miles on him and turn him into the Light.” Napoleon shifted back just far enough to raise Illya’s chin. Brown eyes met his with a searching look. “You have been my light for some time now.”

Illya blushed and shook his head. “You are the joyful one. Your voice is like sunshine and laughter. You’ve kept a part of me from freezing completely. That secret part inside of me that still remembered what it was like to be loved.”

“You are loved, Illya. I have my own frozen places inside. Part of me never came back from the war. When my wife died, I stopped loving and began flirting. I substituted sex for love because I couldn’t bear to be hurt again.” The wounded look on his face made Illya want to love the pain away.

“I would keep the hurt away if I knew how, Pasha.” He dared to return the caresses, running his fingers around the square jaw.

“We could learn how together. If you trust me not to hurt you.” Napoleon brushed a kiss across his fingers, sending an arc of desire straight to his groin.

“I trust you, Pasha.”

“I like that nickname, Illya. Where did it come from?” The brown eyes were glowing now.

“Napasha would be the Russian diminutive of your name. When I woke up in the hospital this time, it seemed warmer than Napoleon.”

“And what would the diminutive of Illya be?” Napoleon had captured Illya’s hand and was pressing a kiss to each finger.

“Mama called me Illyusha. It means Little Illya.” He was having a hard time catching his breath.

“Not so little, Illya. You forget I’ve helped you bathe twice now. Not so little at all.” The last word was swallowed in a gentle kiss that took the last of Illya’s breath.

Gentle turned intense when heat exploded between them.

Tongues mated with each other while hands sought skin instead of cloth.

Dual moans rose in the silence only to turn to gasps while oxygen deprived lungs drew in enough air to continue.

But Napoleon seemed to fear going too fast, too soon and he pulled back a bit while Illya nuzzled further into the V of his robe. “Illya . . . Illya, as much as I’m enjoying this, I think we may need to slow down. I want you to be 100 percent when we come together.”

“How many percent am I now, Pasha?” Illya remembered what he’d said before when he asked him that question.

Napoleon smiled as if he remembered too. “80% right now. Your skin is too warm to my touch. I’d like to think it’s how I effect you but I’m afraid it’s not. I want the drug cocktail out of your blood and your fever to be gone completely. We have time to make this right between us. Please?”

Illya thought a moment and realized that half the problem with his breathing was indeed the fever that seemed to be making a return. Sighing, he nodded. “Agreed, Pasha. I want to remember every moment and be able to respond with all of me.”

“Then we both need our rest.” Napoleon couldn’t seem to stop touching him, his hand smoothing the sweatshirt over his chest. “I’ll need all my strength to keep up with you.”

When the soft fabric pressed against his left nipple, Illya thought an electric current had been switched straight to his groin. His gasp brought an intent look to his partner’s face and the hand moved inexorably over to his right side, pressing against the nub that peaked quickly.

“You’re so responsive, my Illyusha. I want to touch every inch of skin until I know what happens with what touch.”

“Very . . . scientific . . .” he arched under the searching hands, clasping at the arms to hold himself upright. “Pasha!”

Strong arms gathered him in and Napoleon rocked him tenderly. “I’m sorry, Illya. I didn’t mean to tease you. I just can’t seem to quit touching you.”

“Then let us go to bed and you can hold me while we sleep.” Illya tucked his head beneath the dented chin, his breath gusting across Napoleon’s vulnerable throat.

“Sleep will be hard to come by tonight.” Napoleon agreed with a shiver.

“Then you can watch me sleep as I used to do with you when we had to share on assignment.” Illya moved back and used the hearthstone to help lever himself up. The dizziness struck again and in a moment, Napoleon was on his feet supporting him.

“I did my share of watching, my friend. Wondering why an intelligent man like you put up with me. Wondering what you tasted like and if I’d ever find out.” He smiled sheepishly and Illya stopped moving towards the bed to stare at him.

“You wondered how I would taste?”

“And what you would sound like when you were writhing in my arms.” Napoleon kept them moving.

“I wondered if your olive toned skin was as dark all over your body and if it was as soft as the inside of your wrist.” Illya stopped by the side of the bed and pulled the shirt off over his head, letting it drop to the floor.

Napoleon smoothed just his fingertips across Illya’s chest. “And I wondered if the hair on your chest was a baby fine as the hair on your head. It is.”

Illya untied the robe and pushed it off Napoleon’s shoulders. “Just skin tonight, please?”

“You’re determined to test my resolve, aren’t you?” Napoleon smiled and began to unbutton his pajama top.

“Yes . . . and no.” Illya slipped off his pants and sat down on the bed, his hands coming up to either side of Napoleon’s waist. “Why don’t you have more hair on your chest, Pasha? I thought all Italian men were hairy.”

“Disappointed?” He dropped the top on the floor and Illya immediately slid the pajama bottoms down over the narrow hips.

They almost caught on the rising erection but with a little wiggle on Napoleon’s part, they slid all the way off. Illya reached out to touch a gentle finger on the hardening cock. “Never, Pasha. You are perfect everywhere.”

Napoleon caught his hand and raised it to his lips. “Tomorrow, my Illya. We can touch and taste tomorrow. Your eyes are at half-mast and I want you to take some more aspirin. Please?”

Illya nodded wearily. He wanted to touch some more but the ache in his head was back and the slight disorientation of fever was growing. He lay down but not before taking off his socks. He felt hot all over and was glad that Napoleon had disappeared into the bathroom to get some water and the small white tablets.

“Don’t pout, it makes me want to kiss you.” His partner held out the aspirin and Illya nipped it from his fingers, making him hiss in appreciation before holding the glass of water for him to drink.

Napoleon set aside the glass and walked around the bed to take ‘his’ side. Crawling under the covers, he pulled an unresisting Illya into his arms. Feeling the long body come into contact with his entire length, he wiggled just a bit because he could.

“This is going to be some of the best torture I’ve ever undergone, love. Go to sleep and dream of me. Then tomorrow, we’ll make the dreams a reality.”

“Love you, Pasha.”

“And I love you, Illyusha.”


	7. Ghosts in the Castle, part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They grow closer but Illya has a terrible secret to tell Napoleon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk of a rape in Illya's past. Might be triggering.

Illya awoke slowly. For some reason he couldn’t move and he wondered why that didn’t frighten him. Then the memories of the night before surged in and his eyes popped open. All he could see was an expanse of olive skin that stretched before him. The brown nipple a few inches from his cheek intrigued him and he remembered the feeling of Napoleon’s hands pressing on his.

But if he moved, he might wake his bed mate and he wanted to have a little more time to explore with just his eyes. Tilting his head an inch, he saw the faint scattering of dark hair that arrowed down Napoleon’s torso, only to be stopped by the duvet. So, he looked up instead to the vulnerable throat exposed to him without any barrier of shirt or tie. Then he smiled at the bristly chin.

Checking mentally for what the rest of his body could feel, he found his leg between Napoleon’s. His morning erection was drilling a hole into a hard hip but his partner’s lay against the top of his leg. The hair on Napoleon’s legs tickled him all up and down his lower extremities.

His right hand lay on Napoleon’s stomach under the duvet, the fine hairs soft beneath his fingers. And so very close to that beautiful penis that he’d only gotten a brief glimpse of the night before. Casting a quick look up, he saw that the brown eyes were still closed. Listening to the even beat of the heart beneath his ear, he decided that he had a little time to explore.

The room temperature was warm, so he gently slid the duvet farther down their bodies. For a moment, he was struck by the contrast of his pale skin against the healthy golden glow of his partner’s. Then Illya began to wonder what his hand would look like against Napoleon’s stirring sex and he moved the duvet a little faster. When the dusky head was revealed, he licked his lips in anticipation.

One of the things Sergei had taught him so tenderly was oral sex. While Napoleon’s penis was not as big as his mentor’s was, it was a beautiful organ. Not too long at the moment but of a pleasing thickness that made his hand itch to encircle it. He’d been circumcised and the clean lines pleased Illya. He had the odd thought that he’d like to begin to sketch again.

He chuckled silently. Instead of birds, he would fill up his sketchbook with drawing after drawing of Napoleon’s sex. Nesting in the wiry dark curls, resting against the pale skin of Illya’s leg, growing erect with a little help from gentle fingers, oh yes, he could definitely spend some time drawing. His hand slid slowly down across the flat stomach, through the crinkling curls of pubic hair and finally around the prize. It was soft and warm and so alive within his loose grip.

The skin felt like silk beneath his fingertips. Casting another look upwards, he saw the beginning of more rapid eye movement and knew that either meant Napoleon was starting a good dream or beginning to wake up. He wouldn’t have long to play uninterrupted so he very gently eased his way down Napoleon’s side until he was eye to eye with the penis that was standing so proudly now within his grip.

Oh, it was beautiful with its flaring head of plum and the single tear of clear fluid that wept from the small slit. Illya licked his lips in anticipation. His fingers slid up and down gently, frictioning the organ to complete hardness before beginning to lick his way from the base up to the prize of bittersweet liquid. It tasted of Napoleon, clean and slightly salty. 

Nibbling around the flared top, he paused to lap the clear bead of fluid. It had been so long since he’d tasted another man that he’d forgotten how slick the semen felt on his tongue. Protecting the delicate skin from his teeth, he stretched his lips around the head, engulfing it and swirling his tongue just over the throbbing vein.

“Illya, what are you doing?” Napoleon’s sleepy voice told him that he’d have to speed things up.

Slowly, he relaxed his throat muscles and slid down until his nose was buried in Napoleon’s groin. Humming a bit, he felt the surge of muscles under his hand and knew that his partner was trying not to thrust up. Very slowly, he moved back up and went back to nibbling the edges of the darkening helmet of tender skin.

“Oh, God. Your mouth should be declared a lethal weapon. You don’t have to do that, Illya.” A warm hand stroked his cheek and he risked a look up into bright eyes.

Releasing his mouthful for a moment, he kept on sliding his hand up and down. “I know I don’t, Pasha but you taste so good that I thought you wouldn’t mind if I played.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Illya. I’d say my cock belongs to you.”

Illya felt a rush of possessiveness that he’d never felt before. “He’s mine? To do what I want with him?”

“He’s all yours, love. Whatever you do is just fine with me.” Napoleon relaxed back onto the pillow but put an arm behind his head so he could see better. “That’s a very lustful grin, my friend. Just what do you have planned?”

“Breakfast.” Illya went back to his single-minded worshiping of Napoleon’s cock. Moving between the sprawled legs, he held the narrow hips down with his hands while he deep-throated him.

Strangled moans began to sound when he swallowed repeatedly. Sliding back up and lapping the tender skin clean of more fluid then back down again to massage the whole cock. He kept it up until the hips beneath his hands surged upwards. “Illya!”

Grinning around his mouthful, he slid up and began to suck strongly. He was soon rewarded with as much semen as he could swallow. It pulsed out onto his tongue with abandon and he licked Napoleon clean with dedicated fervor. He’d always wondered what his partner tasted like and now he knew. Instant addiction.

“Come up here, Illya.” Strong hands pulled him up his body. Napoleon kissed him with passion, scouring the taste of himself from Illya’s mouth.

Illya squirmed against him, his own erection forgotten until now. It slid between them, stabbing Napoleon’s stomach with need. Then they were on their sides and a warm hand captured him, providing enough pressure for him to thrust into with a sob of relief.

“Come for me, love.” Napoleon was scattering kisses all over his face.

Panting now, Illya found himself babbling into a sweaty shoulder while Napoleon milked him of his climax. “Oh.”

Napoleon held him tightly. “I find Russian to be a very sexy language when you are the one speaking it, Illyusha. What was it you said?”

Illya relaxed completely against him. “Something silly probably. It has been so long since another touched me with love, Pasha. So very long.”

Bringing his hand up from between them, Napoleon licked his fingers clean of Illya’s seed while his partner watched in wide-eyed amazement. “You taste good, Illya. I may become addicted if that’s all right with you.”

“Yes, Pasha. You taste so very good to me. Was it all right? I pleased you?” 

Napoleon drew back a space. “Of course you pleased me. When you touch me, I feel so strong, I could take on the world.” His fingers traced Illya’s lips. “And your mouth is the sexiest thing I’ve seen in years.”

Illya was beginning to get used to blushing. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “I have no pretty words, Napoleon. I have had no practice.”

“Then you can practice on me until you feel comfortable, Illyusha. Your actions speak much louder than any words.” Napoleon sighed and kissed him gently. “You’ve had your breakfast but I was thinking of perhaps some food?”

“Semen is full of protein and has very few calories, Napoleon.” Illya remembered that from some class or other. “But some fruit and juice would be most welcome.”

“Good, I’ll order breakfast if you’ll go start our bath.” Napoleon smiled slyly. “We should bathe together to conserve water.”

Illya laughed out loud. “Yes, Pasha, that would be best.”

“I love your laugh. I’m going to work very hard at making you laugh every day.”

“I would like that, Pasha.” Illya suddenly felt as if the room had begun to heat. Napoleon’s gaze was incandescent.

“Bath, Illya. Go, before I decide to keep you in bed all morning.” Napoleon closed his eyes and rolled away from him, taking deep breaths and lacing his fingers together on his chest.

Illya loved that reaction but left the bed regretfully to head for the bathroom. He bent to pick up all their clothes from the floor. Turning to lay them at the foot of the bed, he surprised a lustful look on Napoleon’s face. “What?”

“You are so tempting when I see you move, like a dancer or the fencer that I know you to be. I always had to hide my interest but now I can tell you flat out.”

The wondering tone made Illya want to cry. “You must use the shiny reflective surfaces around us to disguise your gaze. That’s what I’ve done the last five years.”

“That long?” Napoleon leaned up on one elbow and raised an eyebrow.

“I was so very lonely when Mr. Waverly accepted me into UNCLE. I could not believe that I would be good enough to partner with you but I resolved to do my very best.” He ducked his head, unsure that Napoleon would want to hear this.

“Oh, love.” Napoleon slid across the sheets in a heartbeat, landing by the bed and pulling Illya into his arms. “Never doubt that you’ve been the very best partner that I have ever had. Even when I’m teasing you, I’m taken aback by your determination.”

Illya rested against him. “Truly, Pasha?”

“Truly, Illyusha.” Gentle lips took his in a tender kiss that went on and on until their stomachs growled in unison.

“Food, Illya. Bath and food, in that order.” Napoleon pulled away and headed for the phone on the side table.

Illya smiled and went to do his partner’s bidding. Bathing with Napoleon would be fun, especially in the big bathtub. Turning the knobs until the water gushed out, he popped the plug into the drain and turned to find the green bath oil from before. It tinted the water to mint perfection and he took the time to lay down a towel on the floor so it wouldn’t be such a shock when they got out.

A whisper of air was his only warning to a pair of strong arms sliding around his waist and the feel of a hard body all along his back. For a moment he was back at the University and he froze in shock. Napoleon immediately loosened his grip and turned his partner around.

“Illya, what did I do wrong? Talk to me.”

He searched the caring gaze for a long moment. “I . . . had a bad memory. You did nothing wrong, Napoleon.”

The brown eyes narrowed in thought then he was being set aside while Napoleon turned off the taps. “Last one in has to scrub my back.”

Illya managed a smile before sliding in at the other end of the tub. “I would like to scrub your back, Pasha.”

“Good. Then it’s my turn to scrub yours.” Picking up the soap, he lathered it well before dabbing some bubbles on Illya’s nose and making him sneeze.

They played with the soap for long moments while Illya began to relax slowly. He knew it was too much to hope that Napoleon would not question him about his reaction but perhaps by the time the question was asked, he’d be able to tell him about his single try for love. They were not good memories and no matter how hard he tried, he could not banish the pain that accompanied them.

Napoleon finished bathing each toe on his right foot, rinsing them then leaning in for a taste of pink flesh. Illya couldn’t help it; he had to laugh at the sensuous tickling sensation of a tongue between his toes. “Good. You taste so very good. When we’re done in here and finished with breakfast, I’m going to lay you down on the bed and taste every square inch of you.”

Illya blushed all the way down to his exceedingly well-loved toes. “Are you sure, Pasha? I might not taste very good every where.”

“Well, I won’t know if I don’t try, Illyusha. I need a back rest, love, while we soak.” He turned around and scooted back until he could lay his head on Illya’s shoulder, his back plastered to Illya’s front. “You make a very nice cushion, my friend.”

“I like being a Napoleon-pillow. I hope to be one for sometime to come.” Illya stroked his fingers across the well-defined pectoral muscles, softly fingering the dark nipples that rose out of the water at his touch. “Does it feel all right? I’m not pressing too hard?”

“Never, love. Are your nipples very sensitive?”

“Yes. It is why my shirts always look very worn. I must wash them twelve or thirteen times before I can wear them.” Illya stroked farther down to the flat stomach while letting his tongue dart out to taste a convenient ear. Napoleon shivered and pressed back into the caress.

Napoleon caught his wandering fingers before they could go any further. “Take pity on an older man. The way I feel right now, I’d explode if you so much as touched me. No one has ever destroyed my control the way you do, Illyusha.”

Illya blinked away sudden tears. Napoleon had given control over to him, he would have to speak now. “When I got to University, I was well practiced in oral sex but had never experienced anything else. Sergei was well endowed . . . very well endowed and I was small for my age. But he instructed me in how it should be done and he had pleasured me with his fingers so I would know what to expect. He wanted me to fall in love and have that first time with someone who loved me too. My first year at school was a very lonely one. I was there as a student of the State since I had no family. I worked in the gardens in my spare time to help repay the government for my care.”

He paused, the memories welling up like the damned tears he wanted to shed. “One day in my second year at the Library, a fellow student approached me with a request for some help with an assignment. His name was Piot and we had a chemistry class together. He was taller than I and very beautiful with strong almost aristocratic features. He wasn’t in the least shy and was very popular with the other students. I couldn’t believe that he had singled me out for help. I was very foolish. Time went by and I convinced myself that I was in love with him. It was almost the end of the semester and after our chemistry final; he invited me out for a drink to celebrate. I think we drank quite a bit and somehow he got me back to my room.”

He paused and took a long shuddering breath. Napoleon held his hands tightly across his chest, turning his head just far enough to kiss the pulse in his throat. “I told him I loved him and he smiled at me. He said he knew and that he wanted to make love with me. I was ecstatic and we undressed each other with great haste. He picked me up and threw me on the bed before landing on top of me. We kissed for some time and I took his penis in my mouth to pleasure him. He was almost as big as Sergei and I told him that I’d never taken anyone inside of me. Piot just laughed and waited until he was as hard as could be before nudging me to the side and moving behind me. I think I thought he would prepare me the way Sergei had showed me but instead he just shoved himself inside. I remember screaming when I felt the tissues begin to tear and he laughed. He said that blood was the best lubricant.”

“Son of a bitch.” Napoleon’s voice was low and deadly. “If I ever meet him, I’m going to cut it off and make him eat it.”

Illya shook his head blindly. The tears were falling faster than he could blink them away. If he didn’t finish now, he never would. “He fucked me until he came, pulled out and cleaned himself off before giving my bleeding ass a slap. He told me I was a ‘good fuck’ and whenever I needed to get ‘relieved’, I was to come to him so he could show me how it was done. Then he thanked me for helping him with his chemistry class. He had a bet with some of the others that he could get my help and get me into bed. I began freezing at that point until there was nothing left that could ever hurt again.”

Napoleon turned in his arms and gently kissed each tear track across his cheeks. “I hate his guts and I’ve never even met him. We don’t ever have to do that if you don’t want to. I promise that there will never be anything but pleasure in our bed.”

“You don’t think I was foolish and stupid?”

“You have never been nor will you ever be stupid, my beautiful love. I’ll tell you about my first foolishness at falling in love, Illyusha. Another time. Right now, we need to climb out of here and dry off so we can eat a good breakfast. Then I’m going to show you just how wonderful I think you are. If you trust me?”

Illya couldn’t have managed a word to save his life at that point so he nodded and tried to smile at the man who tried to protect him from even his bad memories. He let him pull him upright, watching with wide eyes at the sight of the gleaming body with water cascading over each muscle group. And that sight loosened his voice. “Pasha, you are so very beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you, love. You look like a living, breathing statue from the Emperor’s garden in fabled Antioch.” Napoleon’s gaze was followed by a soft caress from his hands down his torso to either hip. “But you’re better than a statue because the blood is flowing just under your skin and I can feel your pulse beneath my fingers.”

Blushing again, Illya stepped from the tub and reached for a towel to dry off with. Napoleon stood beside him, taking the towel from his hands so he could gently rub the cloth over his entire body. Illya shivered but it wasn’t from cold this time. Only his partner could warm him with such a simple caress. Taking the other towel, he began to dry the golden skin.

Breakfast would just have to wait.


	8. Ghosts in the Castle, part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They become partners in all ways.

Illya had never in his life been so pampered. Napoleon had insisted that he sit by the fire while he charmingly but insistently bullied the maid into changing the bed with fresh linens. A different waiter brought in their breakfast but laid it out with the same precision as the one the night before. Illya wondered if there was a waiter-school where the young men were sent to be trained in the waiting arts.

The first bowl uncovered produced gleaming raspberries with a sprig of mint on top. He knew he was smiling from ear to ear at this fresh example of Napoleon’s good memory but he couldn’t help it. His partner seemed intent on fulfilling every wish he’d ever had. Spooning up a single berry, he rolled it on his tongue and closed his eyes at the tart burst of flavor. Even though they were not in season, they still had a freshness to them that he savored.

A sigh came from across the table and he opened his eyes to find Napoleon’s heated gaze on him. More than ever, he thought that profile decidedly hawk-like and he told him so. His partner laughed out loud. “All the better to keep a sharp eye on you, Illya.”

Smiling, Illya ate another berry. He wanted to stretch breakfast out so the maid was quite done with the room and they could have the place to themselves. Napoleon seemed to agree, talking of the last time he had been here and the walks he’d taken up the hillside to a neighboring peak. Once his partner was better, he promised him he’d take him along.

Illya sat back and let the words wash over him. For the first time in a very long time, he had no secrets from the man across the table. He hadn’t told him everything about his life before they met but the worst and best of the memories were out in the open now and Napoleon hadn’t shied away. He was still here and still determined to make love with him.

He thought that in time, he would even be able to let Napoleon penetrate him. He knew his partner’s softhearted nature and even if it hurt, he would prepare him well enough that he wouldn’t bleed. Then Napasha might be content for a long time before he went back to women. Their pull was weak right now but he’d been a ladies man for so long, Illya couldn’t bring himself to believe that he’d be able to give them up completely.

But that was all right. Illya knew that he could share. He would have to.

Right this minute, however, he didn’t have to. He had Napoleon all to himself and he was going to enjoy every minute of it. By now, he’d finished all the raspberries and the maid was finishing up the bathroom. He’d nibbled at some eggs and slathered preserves over his toast before downing it. Drinking a cup of tea, he sat back and watched his partner finish off the bacon.

“Do we need to check in, Napoleon? Will Uncle Alex be worrying about us?” He asked before pouring another cup of tea.

“I’ll call him after breakfast and make sure he knows we’re fine. Then we’ll have the rest of the day free to take a little walk, drink some tea, have a nap or two.” His voice was calm but the look in his eyes warmed Illya all the way through.

“I think all the inside ice is gone, Napoleon.” He said obliquely.

“I hope so, my friend. We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t come back. Not ever again.” His words came in a deeper voice that made the butterflies in Illya’s stomach flap their wings a little harder.

He nodded, afraid that his voice would squeak. He was nervous and excited at the same time, wishing that the maid would hurry up and be gone but afraid that when she left he’d do something wrong and put Napoleon off. The door closed softly behind her and Illya took a deep breath before letting it slowly out.

“Can I taste you now, Illyusha? Will you let me explore your body from one end to the other? Do you want me to touch and kiss every inch of that pale, beautiful skin?” Napoleon made love to him with his voice and Illya found himself nodding.

His partner stood and held out his hand, pulling Illya up beside him. He slowly released the sash of his robe and pushed it off, watching it slide down his body to puddle on the floor. His sigh made Illya blush yet again. “You are so beautiful, Illyusha. I have no words to tell you just how edible you look right now. Come to bed.”

Illya followed him to the freshly made bed and watched Napoleon pull back the covers all the way to the foot. With a hesitancy born of insecurity, he tentatively put out a hand to untie Napoleon’s robe. The wide smile he received helped to banish the fear of doing the wrong thing and he pushed the plush robe off the broad shoulders onto the floor.

Napoleon slid his arms around him and lifted him up onto the bed before following him down to the cool soft sheets. The contrast between the smooth cotton beneath him and textured skin above him made him wiggle a bit. His partner caught his breath and kissed him hard with an urgency that spoke of great need. Arching up into the solid body that half covered him, Illya made a wordless murmur when cool air came between them.

“Sh-h-h, Illyusha. We have all the time in the world and I plan on driving you right out of your mind. So just relax and let me pleasure you.” Napoleon’s voice came and went as he slid down to Illya’s feet and began his taste test.

Within the space of the next hour, Illya was slowly taken apart piece by piece and put back together again by his skillful lover. He’d never dreamed that a man’s skin could have so many erogenous zones. Sergei hadn’t taught him any of this. The inside of his left knee was a hot spot that almost made him come when Napoleon licked and bit it gently.

But it was when his partner bathed his balls with a warm, wet tongue that Illya found himself babbling in Russian again. In between licks, Napoleon told him what he’d touch next and Illya shivered in anticipation right before his legs were pushed apart and up. It might have frightened him except that all his higher reasoning had fled south to his groin.

He was as hard as he’d ever been in his life and the feel of Napoleon’s tongue against his hidden opening wrenched a moan from him that he only heard vaguely. He was too busy trying to get enough oxygen to breathe to make any more noise. The rolled tongue actually piercing him with tender jabs took his breath away completely. The band of pleasure finally had been twisted too tight and he exploded with a gasp all over the dark head between his legs.

Napoleon’s wet mouth caught most of his seed and each suck took more of him into his lover’s safe haven. He was shaking and gasping with each sensation at his over-sensitized groin. “I’ve got you, Illya. Let go and just relax. I’ve only done half of you.”

Illya gasped out between gusts of laughter. “Any . . . more . . . will . . . kill me.”

“Oh no, Illyusha. No dying allowed. There are no ghosts in our bed, just two men who love each other.” He slid up and gathered the limp body of his partner into his arms. “Rest now and when you wake up, I’ll start at the top and work my way down.”

He laughed weakly and curled into his warm embrace before surrendering to sleep.

********************* 

Illya woke to the sound of a half-snore right by his ear. He smiled and opened his eyes to watch his lover sleep. At any other time, he would berate himself for soppiness but not now, not when all his desires had come true. He chuckled silently. All of them except the world peace wish, of course. He was afraid that was beyond him. But there was peace here in the castle for now, the ghosts had traveled on into the Light and the sense of contentment seemed to flow out beyond them through the whole bed and breakfast.

Perhaps that was what it took to promote world peace, he mused silently to himself. First a castle, then the village, on up to the canton level and right on to the whole country. It would be so nice not to have to fight THRUSH or any of the silly dictators who kept popping up to try and dominate the world. He remembered a slogan he’d heard a few months before.

Make love, not war.

He hugged his happiness to himself. Silently, he repeated the phrase. Make love to Napoleon instead of going out to fight the minions of THRUSH. Too bad that Mr. Waverly would never give him that order. Still, he could give it to himself. It was about time that he tasted that lovely cock again. 

Still smiling, he slid down under the duvet and found the slumbering penis lolling against Napoleon’s right thigh. Licking his lips, he breathed on it and watched it begin to stir. He tilted his head and let his bangs drift gently across the head. That got his attention, all right. He wondered if Napoleon had named him and began to run through names that might be appropriate.

Little Pasha.

The Little Prince. No, that one wouldn’t work since Illya was the Ice Prince.

King sounded too dog-like.

Hm-m-m, he continued to think while he took turns licking then blowing across the hardening organ in his hand. With the other hand, he tenderly gathered the twin globes that hung beneath and gently rolled them between his fingers. Soft moans drifted down beneath the soft cotton cover to his ears.

Emperor. Now that was more like it. If Illya was a statue in the Emperor’s garden then it was only right that the man who brought him to life should be called by his rightful name. Emperor Napoleon – so there’d already been one of those, this one was right here, right now.

“Illya, there appears to be a giant cock-sucking bed bug in our bed who is giving me the blow job of the century.” Napoleon’s sleepy voice filtered through the duvet and he chuckled around his mouthful. “Turn around here, Illyusha so I can get at you too.”

He slid over a bit and felt the cooler air of the room hit his groin when Napoleon pushed the coverlet off them to the foot of the bed. “Hm-m-m, a tasty morsel has just appeared. I’d better just swallow it so that bed bug doesn’t beat me to it.”

Multi-tasking, Illya reminded himself. He was good at that or . . . he had been up to now. But for the moment he was having a hard time remembering exactly what he was supposed to be doing. He moaned when Napoleon stroked his perineum while swallowing him whole. Well, two could play at that game. Each caress that Napoleon gave him was soon returned until it became a race to see who let go first.

Illya was determined to give his partner a climax even better than his from several hours before. He was rewarded with a quick snap of the hips up and the gushing of the cock half down his throat. He pulled back far enough to taste him thoroughly, stroking his tongue against the suddenly too sensitive skin and making Napoleon arch once again in a secondary spasm.

For a long moment, he rested his head against the convenient thigh, watching the satiated organ lie against the golden skin. Then, his partner reminded him that he was still among the living with increased suction and a little flick of his tongue that made Illya’s groin burn with need. He held on to the legs under him and rocked in and out of the voracious mouth until he released with a sigh into the warm wet haven.

They lay in contented silence, touching each other with little strokes here and there. Not with the intent to arouse again but just to learn the best spots to touch. The knowledge that new lovers have always had to learn about their partners and some of the best lessons were those taught by the braille method.

Finally, Napoleon pulled him up so they were face to face again. Illya felt drugged with slow, wet kisses that seemed to make him float in a happy space he’d never known before. He wanted to stay here forever or at least until Napoleon said they had to leave. Illya found himself drifting in and out of consciousness while napping between bouts of lovemaking.

The caress that brought him wide-awake came while they were still lying cuddled beneath the duvet. Napoleon blew a warm gust of air across the nipple over his heart and followed it with a gentle lick that made him shudder. “Too much, love?”

He shivered. “No. It felt almost too good.”

“Nothing is too good for you, Illya. I’m not so sensitive and at one point, I even had a ring through my right nipple. Instead of a tattoo, I got a piercing while on leave in Tokyo.”

Illya shuddered. “I can not even imagine that. It must have hurt.”

“Actually, I found it stimulating. One of my fuck-buddies would wet it and then tug on the ring with his teeth which always sent me right into orbit.” Napoleon chuckled. “So you don’t need to be as gentle with me as I will be with you. I promise to tell you if something hurts and you must promise too.”

“I promise, Pasha.” Illya nodded. “As much as I love just lying in bed with you, do you think we could get up and take a walk?”

“Of course, we can. A walk then lunch and maybe another nap before dinner.” Napoleon waggled his eyebrows and made Illya laugh.

It took more time to dress because Napoleon insisted on buttoning all his buttons for him. So Illya retaliated by choosing his partner’s outfit for him and dressing him in it. Telling him that he enjoyed a chocolate colored mate got him a smoldering look and a promise to see what a raspberry flavored Illya tasted like.

Illya thought that might be fun.

They walked down the front stairs to the great hall. It was the oddest feeling to see it now with modern eyes while the memories from Willim were still fresh in his mind. He thought it might be just him so he wasn’t going to say anything but Napoleon surprised him again.

“How odd it looks without the long oak table and the straw scattered on the floor.” He shook his head, holding on to Illya’s arm in case he got dizzy. “And the hunting dogs snuffling around looking for handouts from the dinner guests.”

“Yes. The flags aren’t right either. The wrong cantons are hanging.” Illya held onto the curved oak railing with his other hand while the room seemed to expand and contract around them. He hoped that Napoleon hadn’t noticed because he really wanted to get outside for at least a little while.

“We’ll make a nice slow circuit of the courtyard and the herb garden then it’s back to bed with you, my friend.” Napoleon said quietly but firmly.

“Yes, Pasha. That will be just right. I miss being able to walk in the fresh air.”

“Don’t rush to get well, Illya. I’m enjoying coddling you and I know you won’t let me when you are back to normal.” Napoleon’s pout was a classic.

“I have enjoyed being pampered, Pasha. I think you could probably talk me into continuing once we are back in the real world.” Illya murmured shyly, nodding to an older man who was coming in while they were leaving.

Napoleon smiled charmingly at the distinguished gentleman and walked Illya down the front steps before answering. “Pampering is the very least of what I want to do with you, Illyusha. But we have plenty of time for a little bit of everything.”

“Everything . . . sounds like it would take quite a while.” Illya walked through the stone arch and into the winter version of a garden. Several bushes were still bright scarlet but the rest of the foliage was a blend of tan and silver beneath a light dusting of snow. “This is beautiful, Pasha. Look at the stones in the path. I wonder if they’re original?”

Napoleon tilted his head and knelt to brush away the snow from a paving stone with a deep carving on the top. “Look, it’s a fox.”

Illya was brushing one just two steps away. “This one is a falcon, Pasha.”

“I think you’ve answered your own question. I have a fading memory of them from what’s left of the Baron’s memories.” He sat back on his heels and shook his head. “You know, Illya, I really do think that I was momentarily possessed by him. I’ve never believed in ghosts but I’ve found I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh good, I was afraid that I was the only one.” Illya smiled and stood up, holding out his hand to help Napoleon to his feet.

“And about what you asked earlier, Illyusha. If I’m very lucky, you will stay with me until that Light comes looking for us. Everything and more, I promise.” He pulled Illya close and kissed him gently.

“Everything and more, Napasha.” Illya managed to speak over the lump in his throat. “I think they were not the only ghosts laid to rest here.”

“If any more phantoms appear in our lives, Illya, we will face them together. Your hands are cold, love. Come back inside so we can . . . nap again.” He waggled his eyebrows and Illya began to laugh out loud.

“Nap time it is, Pasha.” He said through his chortles. “Perhaps we could order some hot chocolate so I could drink it from your body.”

“Illya! I am shocked, I tell you, shocked at that suggestion.” Napoleon turned them back to the castle. “I was thinking more along the lines of honey myself.”

They were both laughing as they walked slowly back to the beautiful castle while the snow began to fall gently on the stone turrets. The echo of their laughter rang out into the countryside. Illya wished with all his heart that the peace and joy that they had found would echo out into the valley, not stopping until everyone felt its power. The way he felt right now, even his fourth wish might someday come true.

Someday.


	9. Ghosts in the Castle, part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Waverly wins a bet. His POV

Alexander Waverly sat at his desk reading the sixteenth file of the morning. He smoked his pipe slowly, savoring the rich taste of his special blend. The soft chime of the intercom broke his concentration. “Yes?”

“Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin just passed the first check point, Sir.” His secretary explained.

“Ah, good. Would you prepare some coffee for us? And send them in the moment they get here?”

“Certainly, Sir. I’ll mark you as in-conference until you ring again.” She said briskly. “You don’t have anything on the agenda until this afternoon at two.”

“Professor Symmons and his research on pheromones, right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’ll let you know my plans for lunch before then, Miss Larson.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

The click told him that his formidable secretary was probably already planning his lunch, counting the calories and trying to work in a little walking for his health’s sake. Alex smiled to himself and counted his blessings. Two of which were coming to report after too long away. There seemed to have been no complications other than the initial drugging and kidnapping.

Napoleon had been very brief in all his conversations and the doctors were still going over the odd combination of drugs that lurked in his partner’s blood. He’d been very protective and flatly refused to return home until Illya was completely recovered. Not even the mild verbal reprimand had shaken his resolve.

Alex chuckled at the thought of his top team. They got into more trouble than any other three teams combined but they always succeeded in their mission. He’d seen this particular digging in of heels on Napoleon’s part coming for some time. The more that Illya got hurt, the slower his partner had been at accepting a new assignment. If the world were just a little less chaotic, Alex would have the luxury of giving his teams some breathing room.

But the world was changing faster than ever and there was always someone ready and able to take advantage of a bad situation. He made a mental note to do some more recruiting from some of the other alphabet agencies. There was a very promising young man at the FBI who might just be lured away. His profiling was superb but his superiors were burning him out with ever more horrific cases.

Yes, there were several who were ripe for the plucking. One of the assistant attorneys’ right here in Manhattan was doing an excellent job prosecuting for the city. She would be a valuable addition to UNCLE’s legal department. There simply wasn’t enough time to vet everyone who looked promising.

Alex sighed and closed the file he hadn’t quite finished reading. Time was something he had no control over and he’d always vaguely resented that fact. The older he got, the less sleep he needed but the more he had to do. And the decisions never stopped coming. The soft knock on the door alerted him to another presence.

“Come in.”

Napoleon led the way in and Alex blinked at his appearance. His smile was open and beaming instead of charming and calculated. Illya was right on his heels and the shock of seeing a shy smile on the young man’s face at some teasing remark on Miss Larson’s part, completed his surprise.

“Good afternoon, Sir. The front desk said you wanted to see us.” Napoleon sat down as if he owned the chair and that at least was normal.

Illya’s quiet murmur was also part of the norm but the complete lack of controlled behavior was decidedly not. He was as relaxed as Alex had ever seen him. No, Alex corrected his thought. He’d never seen the young Russian this relaxed. His smile was warm and just short of beaming.

“Gentlemen, it’s good to see you looking so well. No ill effects, Mr. Kuryakin?”

“No, Sir. I am quite well. The doctor took a blood sample right before we left Lucerne and no drugs were left inside of me.” His faint accent came and went.

“Good . . . good. And you both look as if your vacation agreed with you.” Alex watched them closely while fussing with his pipe.

Napoleon shot a sideways glance at his partner that was nothing short of sizzling. “Yes, Sir. We managed quite a few good hikes in the valley after Illya began to feel stronger. And rest, lots of rest.”

“The Swiss air is quite . . . invigorating, Sir.” Illya said blandly with an innocent look that didn’t fool Alex for a minute.

“Lots of exercise and plenty of . . . sleep have us in fighting trim, Sir. Do we have another assignment?” Napoleon’s voice had a silky quality to it that Alex had never heard before.

Satisfied, yes. But this went beyond satisfied to . . . satiated. Alex smiled to himself and made a point to phone his counterpart in London. It seems he’d won the bet as to which of their two best teams would get together first. He was looking forward to the bottle of Glen Finnian he’d been promised.

“Well, gentlemen, there actually isn’t much on the books at the moment. Except for a small inconvenience, I’m afraid. Due to some unforeseen budget cuts, I’m going to have to ask you to share lodgings. We have a nice little brownstone off of 53rd Street that should hold the two of you nicely. I know it’s a bother to have to move everything you own but I’m afraid it’s necessary.”

“The safe house at number 253?” Napoleon asked cautiously, his eyes flickering to his partner.

“Yes. It’s a three bedroom and I’m going to have Mark Slade take the third bedroom in the basement. That way we can maximize our resources. It wouldn’t do at all to have he and Miss Dancer share quarters.” Alex managed a frown while he kept his laughter under wraps. Really, their reaction was too, too delicious.

“We shall do as you order, Mr. Waverly. At least the safe house has room for my books.” Illya said primly.

“Oh, my God, all those books. It will take us a week to pack them, not to mention carrying them up all those stairs.” Napoleon was doing his best to sound put upon but a lilt crept in anyway.

“I could say the same for all your clothes, my friend. You have four closets full and that’s not mentioning the shoes.” Illya narrowed his eyes at his partner but one corner of his mouth kept trying to turn up.

This was going to be fun, Alex thought to himself while he listened to their per forma bickering. His team-watching had just taken on a new dimension. He’d have to see about pulling some more people in to train. He could see the future and it was long past time that his best team came in from all the dangerous assignments to take over more supervisory tasks. They wouldn’t risk each other now. They had too much to lose.

And so did UNCLE.


End file.
